


Kallak

by lasweetiebloom



Series: The Exiled Princess and the Bastard Prince [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dwarf Noble Origin, F/M, Fifth Blight, Gen, Mild Smut, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:11:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 110,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasweetiebloom/pseuds/lasweetiebloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Having been found guilty of fratricide by the Assembly of Orzammar, you are hereby sentenced to exile and death. Do you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?"</i><br/> </p><p>Sereda Aeducan, favored child of King Endrin Aeducan, has spent her whole life in glorious Orzammar, without a thought of the world above. She has lived this privileged life thinking only of duty to her people and honor to the Ancestors, excited to soon undertake her first command. But when her brother betrays her and her father turns from her, Sereda is thrust into a surface in chaos. As she fights an ancient foe, and gathers allies from around Thedas, she’ll learn that sometimes duty and honor come second to survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I chose the "Mature" rating because of planned future content, as well some moderate cursing/adult content.

She toyed with the buckle of the armor, pulling the leather straps as much as they would allow. If only she could tighten it just a notch more. Sereda felt like she was swimming within the plates, but she couldn’t bear the thought of wearing one of her own suits. Her father's voice echoed between her ears; it would look like she couldn’t live up to her grandmother’s legacy. Maybe she could put another hole into the leather… She sighed with frustration and dropped the buckle when a voice chimed in from behind her.

“Greetings, my lady.” Gorim Saelec leaned against the arch before her bed, his hands crossed in front of him. “You’re dressed and ready. Excellent,” he said, though the smug smile on his lips told her differently as his eyes caressed her. He motioned to the bed, where a polished silverite blade lay. “I couldn’t find the armor’s matching dagger, but I scrounged up a rather fancy longsword. Do you want to wear your shield to the noble’s feast, too?”

As her second, Gorim knew Sereda normally didn’t use a shield, instead favoring her twin blades, much to her father’s chagrin. The king would chide her, the grin never far from his lips, that daggers were the weapons of dusters, not princesses. She reluctantly wore a shield in the parades and ceremonies she attended to appease him and the crowds below. Whether or not she used a shield, appearances were everything in Orzammar. “Yes. Let them see me as a warrior,” she said as she pulled the shield off of its stand in her armoire.

“As opposed to the Paragon of Beauty?” Gorim asked slyly, his smirk intensified by a quirk of his eyebrows.

Sereda raised hers back and quipped with a laugh, “Close the door, then. I’ll show you a Paragon of Beauty.”

“Ha! Don’t you remember how this game goes? I get undressed, then one of your brothers or cousins appears and thrashes me. I’ll take my chances somewhere outside the palace, if you don’t mind.” Indeed, all of their dalliances had occurred outside the glittering Royal Palace walls, in alleys after the lanterns were extinguished or in the Provings’ ready rooms after a hard match. It wasn’t that Sereda truly yearned for different, only that perhaps sex on a bed would be a novel experience.

Gorim eyed her up and down and continued wistfully, “Well… thoughts for later, I suppose. Moving on to the business at hand… The king expects you to make an appearance at the feast, but there’s no rush. The noble family heads will spend hours boring your father with petitions and petty grievances.”

“The art of ruling is hardly boring,” she chided, slipping the longsword onto her back along with an ornate shield bearing her family’s heraldry.

Gorim shrugged and moved from the archway to help her with her weapons. “If you say so. Listening to a hundred lords complain that their neighbors use the same underhanded tactics they do would tire on me after about… oh a minute? Still, there are other excitements.” He was behind her now, and leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

A shiver went through her spine and Sereda turned to face him. “You mean you?”

“Ha!” Gorim, after checking the room to be sure the other guards had left, brushed his lips against Sereda’s. She sighed when he pulled away, but didn’t press it. He continued as though she’d said nothing, “As part of the celebrations, permits have been auctioned off to merchants who wished to sell wares in the Diamond Quarter. And Lord Harrowmont has opened up the Provings for young warriors to test their mettle before tomorrow’s battle.” He mimicked the lord’s deep voice and Sereda laughed merrily. “Rumor had it that he’s hoping you’ll be swept off your feet if a well-placed nobleman wins the Provings in your honor.” Though his tone was conspiratorially, Gorim’s eyes crinkled unhappily and Sereda laid a gloved hand against his bearded cheek.

“Should we tell him I already have all the man I need?” They chuckled as Gorim laid his own hand over hers to squeeze it.

“Why not? I’ll just wear a sign that say, ‘Assassinate me before Lady Aeducan marries beneath her.’” The smile on his lips still did not reach his eyes, but he laughed nonetheless. For a moment he tilted towards her as if to kiss her, but thought better of it. He stepped away and Sereda felt a pang through her heart. “Better yet, let’s just enjoy the time we have before the feast.”

With forced joy, Sereda declared, “Well, I’d like to watch these Provings, if they’re to be fighting for me!”

Bowing, Gorim replied, “With you as always, my lady. The day is ours until the feast.”

With her weapons secure, she lead them from her bedroom. Cheer returned to her heart at the familiar clanging of her armor ringing throughout the stone hallways. She remembered seeing her grandmother, her namesake, walking these very halls in it to commemorate her final command. Her grandfather, King Ansgar, had hated that she still headed into battle in her elder years, but all knew better than to argue with Queen Sereda. When she had died, returning to the Stone in her sleep, Sereda had cried for days, and only the thought that one day she could don her grandmother’s armor brought her any joy. She silently thanked her grandmother for her blessing, helping her to gain her first military command, as she and Gorim made their way through the palace.

“My lord Bhelen?” A head poked out of Bhelen’s room, the woman’s eyes going wide when she saw Sereda and Gorim. “Oh, oh! I am so sorry!” Sereda was going to just keep walking, it wasn’t unusual for a girl to be in Bhelen’s room, but the casteless tattoo on the woman’s cheek troubled her. She doubled back to her younger brother’s room. The red-haired woman dashed further into the room, but then simply stood fidgeting when she saw nowhere to hide.

With her eyes downcast, the woman stuttered, “I… I’m sorry. I thought you were Bhe- Prince Bhelen coming down the hall. I… forgive me.”

“Who are you?” The servants of the palace were never casteless, and she certainly wasn’t a relative of House Aeducan. Sereda eyed the bed, the sheets in disarray, and blood ran through her cheeks, staining them red.

Gorim scratched his neck and muttered, “She’s… er… it seems she’s one of your brother’s newest… um, companions.” He looked at the woman, meeting her gaze, and said sternly, “Prince Bhelen is attending the feast being held in Lady Aeducan’s honor.”

The woman blushed, still not looking up. “Yes, of… of course. It was presumptuous of me to think he would return to--- I am sorry. I will show myself out, with your leave, my lady.” She finally looked up as she curtsied and Sereda felt a small twinge of guilt. It wasn’t this poor girl’s fault that her brother didn’t have the courtesy to tell her when he’d return.

With a nod, Sereda murmured, “You may go.” The woman hurried past them, stopping only to gather a small purse of coins.

Gorim shook his head as they watched her go. “I just cannot understand why your father doesn’t marry Bhelen off already and be done with it. There are plenty of available noblewomen who’d love to bear an Aeducan son.”

“He’s young, too young for marriage yet,” Sereda said as they left his room, shutting the door behind her. She reminded herself that Bhelen was nearly seventeen, far from a child, but he would be forever five in her mind. “He’s just hot-blooded. It’ll wear off, I’m sure. Trian did this same thing, too.” Her memories of walking in on Trian and women in compromising positions came from when she was little more than a child, but they had certainly left an impression. Her brother would curse her and shove her from the room, threatening all sorts of punishments if she told on him. She had never assured him she wouldn’t, only nodded meekly and run off to play with her maids.

“I can’t imagine women lining up to bed Prince Trian. No offense, my lady.”

She chuckled and shrugged. “For all his _other_ faults, Trian never had a hard time finding a willing participant.”

Gorim scoffed and pushed open the doors of the palace to the Diamond Quarter. “Whatever you say, my lady.”

The guards tipped their helmets to them as the pair stepped onto the street. The exclamations of the merchants replaced the normal shouts of the criers and Sereda smiled at the cacophony. Gorim noted her pleased expression and grinned as well before heading down the steps and towards the Proving Grounds.

The energy of the marketplace thrilled her, but she rarely went to the Commons anymore. She had gone more as a child, holding her mother’s skirts as they browsed the hand-crafted weapons and jewelry the merchants offered. She had kept up the weekly visits until she was a teenager, but a few riots in Dust Town made her father nervous. He had forbid her visiting the Commons without an armed escort, and even then she had to get his approval first. Still, he knew how much she loved the marketplace; she would have to thank him later for bringing it to her.

“My lady?” Gorim snapped her out of her reverie and she shuffled behind him to catch up. They hadn’t gone far, though, when two men stepping into their path.

“Atrast vala, big sister!” Bhelen bowed his head slightly and nudged their elder brother, Trian. A scowl was already on his face when he saw Sereda, and it only deepened as he took in her armor. “How surprising to run into you out among the common folk,” Bhelen continued, a hint of sarcasm threaded through. He had run into her many times outside of the palace, and quite a few times when she was supposed to be in her room asleep. She realized perhaps she shouldn’t judge her brothers’ nighttime activities too harshly herself. She narrowed her eyes at him, but the corners of her lips quirked up despite it.

She opened her mouth to reply, but Trian cut her off, “Especially since duty requires that you attend our king father at the feast today. Have you so little respect for him to disregard his wishes on a day set aside for you?” The smile fell from her face and her cheeks burned. _Give it to Trian to make me feel like a child_. Their age difference was larger than that of her and Bhelen, and Trian acted more like a stern father than a loving brother.

No retort came to mind, but Gorim angled himself in front of her and argued, “Lord Harrowmont told me we wouldn’t be needed for hours at least--”

“Silence!” Trian shouted and the cries of the merchants fell for a moment as they turned to look at their prince. When they saw he wasn’t addressing them, they resumed their pleas, and Trian spoke, a mote softer, “If I want the opinion of my sibling’s _second,_ I will ask for it.”

“Yes, your Highness.” Gorim bowed his head and stepped back behind Sereda again. She wanted to take his hand in hers and comfort him, but it would have to wait.

She met Trian’s eyes, ice-blue, and meekly replied, “I will go to the feast right now, Trian.”

“Perhaps you were right, Bhelen,” Trian drawled, “when you said our sister wasn’t all useless breeding flesh.” Ire flashed through her as her brother smirked, and she crossed her arms across her chest. A hundred comebacks came to her mind as they stood there, but she didn’t give them voice. Her brother would have no issue fighting her in the street, she knew, and it would likely get them all killed. Trian watched her face as she fought to keep it calm and he snickered at her.

He strode past her, their shoulders bumping in their armor, the metal ringing in the street. “I’ll be along later to toast your command. Come along, Bhelen.” He strode away quickly, their brother following with an apologetic smile on his lips. Sereda took in a deep breath, willing her anger away. Gorim squeezed her hand for the briefest of moments, a risk she appreciated.

With a snort, he broke their silence, “That was fun. Nothing like being talked down to by the next king.”

“Ignore him. I intend to. It’s my day, not his.”

Gorim’s smile lifted her heart and he tilted his head to her. “That it is. Let’s get back to enjoying it, shall we?” She nodded enthusiastically and they resumed the path to the Commons. A weapons’ merchant called out to them, and the shining glint of silverite and dragon-bone caught her eye. She could never resist a good weapon. She pulled Gorim along behind her, his eyes rolling when he saw her intent. The merchant, probably seeing the Diamond Quarter for the first time she mused, went pale when he saw her approach.

“Greetings, my Lady Aeducan! I am… so honored to have you visit my booth.” He didn’t meet her eyes, instead staring at the wood of the stall, his hands wringing together.

“Greetings… merchant.” She kept her tone light and open, though she did not really wish to speak with him. Too often merchants wanted a favor from her or the king. Still, she knew it did no good to be rude. She continued to browse his wares, when he spoke again.

“I have a… proposition, but I dared not approach—”

“Yet you dare now!” Gorim’s hand went to his sword, but Sereda calmed him with a gesture.

“It’s all right. I’ll hear him out. I’m sure he means no harm.”

“Very well, then. Speak.” Gorim glared at the man, whose expression had gone from reverence to terror in a moment.

“Um, yes, just so. Here is the thing.” The man took a deep breath, shuddering in, “What I mean to say is…”

Thinly, Sereda encouraged him, “It’s all right.”

“Sorry, so nervous. I… I had a dagger made. For you. As a gift for your first command. I, uh, sent a messenger to deliver it to you. Prince Trian had him thrown out, though. I don’t know what offense he caused, but I had him beaten severely.”

Sereda pursed her lips, annoyance beating through her. She would have to bring up Trian’s behavior to her father after the feast. She was nearly two-and-twenty years of age; she was no longer a child. Soon, she was to be a commander in her own right! It was not Trian’s duty to inspect her messages.

“I’m sure Trian had his reasons,” she allowed, with a tilt of the head. She moved to leave, noticing another stall of weapons nearby, when the man begged.

“Won’t you at least look at it?”

She turned back, surprised at the man’s tenacity. She looked to Gorim, who only shrugged. She nodded to the merchant, and relented with her hands held up, “I’ll take a look, but no promises.”

“Of course! Oh, a thousand thanks to you. Here… here it is, your Highness.” He pulled a box up from underneath the stall and gingerly opened the lid. The dagger lying within was stunning, and she immediately leaned forward to examine it more closely. The runes on it spoke of lightning, a phenomenon Sereda only knew from books. It seemed to crackle with energy, a hazy blue glow surrounding the blade. A large gem sat in its hilt, a glittering sapphire with a vein of silver, and Sereda was immediately smitten. She was thankful that Trian had just thrown the messenger out instead of seeing the blade; he surely would have kept if for himself if he had. She gently lifted the dagger from its velvet bed, and tested the weight in her hand.

“That’s an amazing piece, merchant.” Gorim’s suspicion leaked through his voice, but the merchant bowed nonetheless.

“You do me much honor, ser. The blade has been crafted over a period of two years by masters of every art. I wish to bless the Lady’s first command, and…” He leaned in closer to whisper, “And hope that someday, when she rules, she will wear it.”

Gorim narrowed his eyes and reminded him, as though the merchant was dull, “Trian is heir. He will rule when King Endrin returns to the Stone.”

The merchant shrugged and held up his hands. “If the Assembly wills it. Forgive me, ser, but whispers say the second child of Endrin will be chosen.”

“Whispers indeed,” Gorim relented, looking to Sereda for her reaction. She was undeniably pleased by the merchant’s faith in the Assembly. Trian had lost a lot of the nobles’ lingering good will when his last command had gone terribly wrong. Rumors had been swirling for nigh on five years that she would be chosen as king after her father, not her elder brother. While her father openly favored her, he knew better than to cross Trian. Publicly, he proclaimed that his eldest child would be his chosen successor, but in private…

It was putting the bronto before the cart, though, Sereda knew. Her father, while getting on in years, was quite healthy and hale. She smiled at the merchant for his support, and set the dagger back down.

“It’s a princely gift,” Gorim conceded. Warningly, he murmured, “If Trian recognizes it, though, it may send the wrong message. Or the right one, depending on your view.”

Sereda’s mind flashed to moments before, when Trian had shouted at her and Gorim. _Who cares what he thinks_? _He’s not king yet!_ “Damn what Trian thinks. I’ll take it!” The merchant clapped his hands in glee and began to package the blade.

He spoke quickly as he wrapped, tears in his eyes, “Thank you! Thank you, my lady! You bring uncountable honor to me!”

“What he means is that you’ll bring uncountable gold to him if you wear that blade in public,” Gorim muttered as they walked toward the gate to the Commons. 


	2. Chapter 2

After several matches, Sereda wondered at how smart her plan had been. Surely she would be sore for her battle tomorrow, which was of the utmost importance for her house. Yet, the people’s favor was the glue that held a kingdom together, her father had always told her. Get the people behind you, and you have bodies to throw at the darkspawn, bodies to entertain you, bodies to serve you. What better way to unite the people than to show them that she aimed to please?

Gorim had pleaded with her to just let the fighters do their duty and fight for the glory of the Ancestors. But the way the crowd had called her name when she walked into view; it was intoxicating to be adored.

The Proving Master certainly hadn’t liked her idea. “My lady,” he had sputtered, his hands gripping the competition schedule to his chest. “This Proving is in _your_ honor!”

She had crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, waiting until his mind had worked out the risks. Lord Harrowmont had arranged the Proving, to be fair, but Sereda clearly overruled him. As angry as Lord Harrowmont might be at Lady Aeducan fighting, the Proving Master knew she could make his life infinitely worse.

So he had thrown out his arms and declared, “Men and women of Orzammar, we have a late entry to these Provings, held on the eve of battle for the honor of House Aeudcan! I give you… the lady Aeducan herself!” The arena had erupted into cheers, and Sereda bowed courteously.

The cheers as she had won each of her bouts, even against Ser Blackstone who was twice her age with triple the fighting expertise, had reassured her that even if her plan was stupid, it certainly had the right effect.

She rolled her shoulders and bounced on her toes to keep her legs loose. One fight left. She eyed her opponent Frandlin Ivo, a man she knew only in passing. She recalled Harrowmont’s original intent for the Proving, finding her a husband as usual. An Ivo would certainly be marrying up, taking an Aeducan to wife, but at least Frandlin was handsome enough. And an exceptional fighter, to be standing across from her here.

 “It is down to just two warriors,” the Proving Master’s voice boomed through the hush of the arena. “With backbones of stone and wills of iron, they have defeated all others this day! Lady Aeducan will fight Frandlin Ivo, second son of Lord Ivo!” The crowd shouted, mostly in support of their princess, and both competitors bowed.

“You fight well. I wish you glory today and glory tomorrow.” His tone was a hair from mocking and Sereda snorted and rolled her eyes.

“May you be hard as stone.” He found an unintentional undertone and smirked.

The Proving Master called out again. “First warrior to fall is vanquished. Fight!”

Sereda immediately cleared her mind of their banter and created a strategy in that first moment. She excelled in one-on-one combat; she had her whole life. Though she trained with the other warriors, her heart had been set on learning the style of the Proving fighters of old. They had won their bouts with aversion and treachery, dashing around the arena to dodge any blows. Any good fighter knew that brute strength could not always win the day.

She reached onto her belt and laid the first part of her plan. She blew the dust from her palm into Frandlin’s face, who was charging at her with his maul high in the air. In a moment he was slowed, earning Sereda a cheer from the crowd. It was a knockout powder from the surface country Rivain. Bhelen had got a large pouch for her last nameday and she had been saving it for a worthy opponent. She grinned at the success, and began her attack.

Each stroke of her blades, the longsword from her House and the dagger from the merchant, wore on the stunned Ivo. She made quick work of the straps of his armor, it clinging to the stone of the arena floor within moments. The sound brought Frandlin back to his senses, and he retreated a few steps.

“Now, is that really fair behavior from a princess?” He didn’t sound angry, which would have been expected. In fact, he laughed as he kicked his armor out of their path. He tossed his maul towards it as well, slipping a dagger from his belt. They circled each other, feet working complicated steps to carry them.

“Should I just lie back and take it? Would that be acceptable?” Frandlin sniggered and lunged at her, a grunt forced from him as she dodged. She wasn’t fast enough to avoid his second pass though, and a white-hot slice of pain sliced through her as he cut her cheek. She whirled back, wiping the blood on her face away with the back of her hand.

The cut stung, but she kept her eyes wide open as they resumed their circle. She struck again, but he parried the blows. Soon they fell into a rhythm, each taking turns striking and falling back. Sereda reached for her knockout powder again, but Frandlin swung at her and she had to roll out of the way to avoid another blow. As she rolled, she realized he was off-balance. He would have to take an extra step to right himself or else he’d tumble to the ground. She grinned at her good fortune.

Before he could realize what had happened, she was at his back, her armored boot kicking his knee from behind. He crumpled to the ground, and she slid her dagger to lie flush against his throat. He threw his hands up as the dwarves in the arena began to chant Sereda’s name.

The Proving Master acknowledged her victory, and even from so far above her, she could see the grin on Gorim’s face. The Master raised his hands and the people quieted some.

“Congratulations, Lady Aeducan! Frandlin Ivo is as fierce a competitor as I’ve ever seen. You’ve vanquished every warrior of note in today’s Proving. The ceremonial helm commissioned for today’s winner is yours.” Sereda released Ivo from her blades and helped him to his feet. He grinned at her, chest heaving and she found herself smiling back.

“Give it to Lord Ivo. He fought bravely.”

The Proving Master nodded down at her with pressed lips. Ivo turned to her and bowed, his sweat-covered face grinning.

“You fought quite well, my lady,” he remarked as they walked from the arena to the ready rooms. “I had heard of your prowess, but I’m honored to see it for myself.”

“Perhaps you’ll see more of it in the future, Lord Ivo,” she suggested. He beamed at her and bowed again, heading to his own rooms.

“That was fantastic, my lady!” Gorim ran up from behind, sweeping her into his arms. For a moment she worried about who was around to see them, but Gorim released her a moment later.

“It was hard, but I’m glad I did it. The people loved it!”

“That they did, my lady. Oh, you’re hurt!” His fingers went to her cheek, gingerly wiping the blood away.

She waved off his worry. “Tis but a scratch. I’ll survive. Though, I should get cleaned up. Father will be angry if we don’t get to the feast soon.”

Gorim nodded his agreement and followed her to her dressing rooms, relaying the Proving Master’s anxious commentary throughout the competition.

Fresh off her victory, the bounce in Sereda’s step carried her back to the Palace. She knew better than to keep the king waiting. At the large golden doors the guards allowed them entrance with a coordinated bow, and Sereda strode straight to the grand banquet hall. Gorim trailed behind, each step getting a bit further away from her until they were a respectable distance from one another. No need to rouse suspicions.

Still, guilt coiled through her stomach as she hazarded a glance behind her. While there was a part of Sereda that wanted to be with Gorim, openly and proudly, she also knew her duty was to her house. An Aeducan could not marry a warrior. Harrowmont and her father would arrange a suitable marriage soon, no doubt, and she would begin the long years of bearing and raising children until she could get back into the fray of the never-ending darkspawn battle. It wasn’t a thought she looked forward to with much relish, but she knew exactly what was at stake if the dwarves didn’t get to having more children, and quickly.

There were more nobles than she had expected in the hall, and a few humans stood above them like a sore thumb. The Wardens. It was customary for them to visit the king, given how similar their daily struggles against the darkspawn were, but Sereda had yet to see them. She walked towards them to exchange pleasantries before speaking to her father, enthroned in the middle of the room, when a lord called out to her.

"My lady Aeducan! I must speak with you!” Lord Ronus Dace waved his arms above his head to get her attention, the red braids in his beard shaking with his effort. She made a beeline to him, wanting to shut down the display as quickly as possible.

"Lord Dace,” she said curtly, inclining her head towards him. Her eyes swept the room, annoyed that quite a few other nobles were watching the pair.

He was a bit out of breath from trying to win her notice. “Many thanks for your willingness to hear me out, my lady. I wish to speak to you of a matter most urgent.”

Sereda remembered with sinking stomach the note she had left on her desk earlier that day. Lord Dace had been begging for an audience with her for weeks and she had so far succeeded in putting it off. He had a reputation for double dealing in the Assembly, not an uncommon thing amongst the noble dwarves, but Sereda did her best to seem above all of the politicking and backstabbing.

Still, she was here now, fallen into his trap. _Well-played_. “Of course, Lord Dace,” she said, forcing her voice into a neutral pleasantness.

“There is a vote coming before the Assembly next week, and a word from you could go a long way towards helping our cause.”

She bit back a retort and asked, still dispassionate, “What cause is that again?” This was exactly the sort of thing her father warned her of; ignorance was as dangerous as apathy. She knew a vote would be taking place, but Trian had been mum about it as usual. When he was king, she would be able to take his place in the Assembly until his children came of age, but for now she relied on the bits and pieces her father gave her and Bhelen squirreled out of Trian. She was allowed to voice her thoughts on matters, of course, which Lord Dace knew well. The backing of a son or daughter of the king, even if they weren’t the first born, carried a lot of weight.

Dace was undeterred from her lack of enthusiasm. He hurried, his hands gesticulating in rhythm with his words. “The vote concerns the state of the so-called surface caste. Lost to the Stone, air-touched and so forth. Centuries ago narrow-minded men declared that any dwarf who left to live on the surface forfeited his caste, and his house if noble. That he was, in essence, no longer a dwarf. I seek only to remedy an injustice, to retie the bonds of anyone who can trace himself to one of the noble houses, wherever he may live. Please agree to speak for this noble cause.”

Ah. It was a frequent issue brought up amongst the dwarves of Orzammar. Most in the city had at least one relative who had gone to the surface, whether to escape or to thrive. And most made their way back to the golden gates, begging to be allowed in. Sereda recalled her mother telling her about a cousin, exiled to the surface with his family and dying far from the Stone. His widow wrote to the Assembly, pleading to be allowed to return to bury her husband with the rest of his house, but the Assembly wouldn’t hear of it. The Ancestors didn’t look kindly on those who turned their back from Orzammar.

A dwarf was made to live in the Stone; it was as simple as that. “Dwarves who live on the surface are no longer dwarves in the eyes of the Ancestors.”

Lord Dace sighed and nodded. “Let’s be honest. I don’t care a whit for those who have wandered away from the Stone. My wife, however, is a gem of a different color. She has a cousin, a useless sort, but she’s quite fond of him. He joined a speculative venture to the surface, hoping to make his fortune, but went bust. Now he wishes to come home, but he can’t, for he has no house and would be casteless. For my wife’s sake, I take up this cause. Will you lend me your voice?”

There was something teeming underneath his story, an ulterior motive that he wasn’t willing to disclose. She wasn’t going to get it out of him here, in front of half the Assembly, so she decided to play it safe.

Forcing faux-regret into her voice, she murmured, “I am afraid I can’t help you. Those who abandon the Stone, no matter the cause, are left to their fate.”

“I am quite disappointed in your lack of sympathy. Good day to you,” he barked as he spun on his heel and stormed from the hall.

“You made the right call, my lady,” Gorim whispered, stepping closer for a moment to do so. Sereda nodded, thankful to have support, even from someone as biased as Gorim, and made her way to the Wardens. Before she could reach them, though, her father motioned to her to approach the throne.

He was arguing with the heads of the noble houses, as usual. His face was lined with experience and exhaustion, but his eyes twinkled merrily when he saw her, and a grin spread across his weathered cheeks.

“But look,” he interrupted the complaint of the noble next to him. “We have company to spare us further wrangling. Atrast vala, my sweet daughter. How fine you look in your grandmother’s armor. It fits like a glove.” Sereda bowed her head, beaming at her father’s compliment.

“I hear you were declared Champion of the Provings,” he said with a chuckle and a shake of his head. He motioned to her cheek, the cut already from the poultice Gorim had applied, "And you have the scars to show for it! I suppose you were never one to sit by when something exciting was going on.”

“Lord Harrowmont arranged them to find me a husband, did he not? If a man is to take me to bed, he’ll have to be able to disarm me first.” The room broke into laughter, even Harrowmont with red cheeks. She didn’t look back at Gorim, but she could hear the distinct absence of his deep chortle.

The king held up his hands to quiet the crowd. “Are you ready to be presented to the heads of the noble houses,” he asked her, motioning to the crowded banquet hall.

Sereda went down to one knee, a gloved hand across her heart. “Of course, Father.”

“So dutiful…” The pride in his voice brought Sereda a toothy smile again. “Very well, let us begin.” He stood from his throne and declared, “Grant me a moment of your time! Who would pose a question to the prospective commander? Who seeks to know the prospect better?”

Sereda prayed to the Ancestors for silence. While a question was not a death sentence to her military career, it certainly did not bode well. What warrior would follow a commander that even a noble could not trust? She had lead small missions in the Deep Roads before, each a success, but her own command was a big step up. There would be dozens of troops following her orders. If all went well, it would be the first of many battles against the darkspawn she would lead. Or, a subdued voice whispered within, it could bring her one step closer to the throne.

The hush remained in the hall, not a soul speaking against her. Endrin called out again, joy ringing, “No? Very well then, the ritual is complete. I give you Orzammar’s next commander! Tomorrow, she will lead part of a mission to strike a great blow to the darkspawn. Not only does this recover access to some of our most important mines, but it also allows our honored guest Duncan, head of Ferelden’s Grey Wardens, to strike far into the Deep Roads.”

The assembled lords and ladies cheered while Sereda and the Wardens bowed. Straightening, Duncan called out over the commotion, “Thank you, King Endrin. While the darkspawn seem to withdraw, it is only because they’re massing on the surface. This could mean a Blight, and my men and I will discover the truth.”

Cheers turned to sobered silence as the dwarves were reminded of those that paid the highest price for the Blight. The pain from the loss of the other great thaigs still burned bitterly amongst them.

Endrin bowed to the Warden. “We are honored to have you with us, my friend.” He motioned to the hall again, merriment returning in bits and pieces. “Now, feast, drink, and celebrate, for the morning brings battle! As for you, my new commander, find your brother Trian and send him to me.”

“Of course, Father.”

“Walk well, Commander.” Sereda bowed again and stepped back, her heart sinking. Always the messenger. She wondered if her father knew how Trian reacted when she had to fetch him. Perhaps that’s why he sent her; better that he didn’t have to deal with his son’s sullen anger.

She realized with annoyance that having to retrieve Trian meant he wasn’t at the feast. _Baby_ , she thought with petulance. She had attended his ceremony without a moment of complaint, and he couldn’t bear to return the favor. And Trian wondered why people didn’t like him.

The Grey Warden Duncan caught her eye, a grin beneath his dark beard, and Sereda decided Trian would just have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I plan on updating weekly, but the interval may increase as we go along.


	3. Chapter 3

The two Wardens were whispering to one another as they waited for an audience with the king. The elder of them turned and bowed when he saw her approach.

“Greetings my Lady Aeducan. It is an honor to meet you at last. I am Duncan and this is Jon, both of Ferelden’s Grey Wardens.” He had a pleasant voice, deep and reassuring, and dark eyes that appraised hers as they met. If he was a dwarf, she mused, he would certainly be popular with the ladies of Orzammar. Jon was quite young, maybe younger than Sereda herself, and he merely nodded at her with eyes glued to the floor.

She dipped her chin respectfully and replied, “The honor is mine, Wardens.”

“I’ve had the opportunity to meet with your father. He speaks highly of you. He says you may be the quickest fighter in all of House Aeducan.”

She grinned, unable to contain her pride. As many times as her father chided her daggers, who often remarked to anyone who would listen bow skilled she was with them. “My father does me great honor,” she said with a modest grin.

“I have no doubt it is deserved,” he said with a throaty chuckle. “We need more Grey Wardens like you. And quickly. Even as the darkspawn weaken here in Orzammar, they are stirring on the surface. A Blight has begun. Soon the fight must go beyond the Deep Roads, lest the darkspawn threaten all the world.” The jovial tone had subsided and was replaced with stark seriousness.

The compliment from a moment before soured. What had she expected? The few other Wardens she had met had been the same way. Always trying to bolster their ranks, even when the darkspawn weren’t a threat to the surface. Still, she was curious about the Wardens.

“I do not know as much as I should about the Grey Wardens,” she allowed, and Duncan looked down at her shrewdly.

“You know of our dedication to destroying darkspawn, our frontline presence during the Blight. What else would you know?”

“Are there many of my people in the Grey Wardens?” The younger Warden, Jon, shuffled from foot to foot, but Duncan didn’t hesitate to answer.

“Over the centuries, many dwarves have made names for themselves in our order. These days, however, there are fewer dwarves and thus fewer dwarven Grey Wardens. A pity, since dwarven warriors have the most experience fighting darkspawn.”

She had to give it to Duncan; he certainly was more skilled at persuasion than many of his comrades. She found herself imagining herself in the royal blue and shining silver armor of the Wardens, fighting darkspawn and reclaiming glory for the dwarves. It was an effective sales pitch.

“What does joining entail,” she asked, ignoring that she was becoming genuinely interested in the answer, not just continuing her politeness.

Duncan pursed his lips before replying. “Becoming a Grey Warden means abandoning all ties to your old life. It means dedicating yourself to destroying the darkspawn.” _And that’s why they’re always recruiting_. The sheen of the offer began to wane again. She had no interest in renouncing her house.

“I am an Aeducan,” she declared. “Orzammar needs me here.”

The Warden nodded, his eyes turned down in disappointment. “Then it is a good thing that you have other paths before you. Some are not so lucky.” The sadness in his gaze tugged at her heart, and she found herself wanting to ask the reason behind it.

There was more to be done, though. She took her leave, accepting their well-wishes for the next day’s battle, and went to do her father’s bidding.

Gorim followed behind her silently, still lost in his own thoughts she assumed. Perhaps he was thinking of joining the Wardens? No _,_ she knew how important being a warrior for Orzammar was to him. He wanted nothing more than his own command, and Sereda was quick to reassure him he would lead men into battle one day. And maybe, vanquishing their ancient foe would bring him glory. She silently prayed for the Ancestors to guide him to be a Paragon. A Paragon would be a fitting husband for a princess…Thoughts for another time, perhaps.

She went to Trian’s room, her ire growing when he wasn’t within. Normally this time in the evening found Trian with his nose in a book, learning new strategies to bore them with at supper. She whirled out of the room, huffing in annoyance. A guard behind her cleared his throat and pointed her to Bhelen’s quarters. She stomped there. Thankfully, there weren’t any more duster women waiting to surprise her, only her two brothers lounging on Bhelen’s couch. Mugs of dwarven ale sat in front of them, half empty. So instead of seeing her become a commander, Trian had been drinking with their brother, keeping him away as well?

Trian rolled his eyes when she entered the room. “So, you are a commander now. In name at least. Shouldn’t you be attending our king father?”

Her temper flared, but Gorim’s hand at her back made it ebb enough to reply. She decided to let it go. “Father wants to see you, Trian.”

Trian stood and downed the rest of his drink. Derisively he snapped, “Of course he does. We must discuss strategy before tomorrow’s battle. Bhelen, stay here and stroke the new commander’s conceit if you like, but then get to bed.” He strode from the room, head held high in contempt.

Sereda sighed and snagged her Bhelen’s mug from the table, taking a few gulps. Bhelen laughed and stood, pouring himself another glass, as well as one for Gorim. “I honestly don’t know how you put up with him until Father made me his second,” he said as he handed Gorim the ale.

“Smile, nod, do my duty.” _Imagine ways to main him_ , she said within her head.

Bhelen sighed loudly and shook his head. “I wish that sense of duty and family loyalty was shared by our elder brother.” His blue eyes were pained, a very rare occurrence.

“You sound serious, Bhelen.” Sereda set her brew down and moved to her brother’s side, bending down to meet his downcast gaze.

He looked up at her and muttered, “Unfortunately, I am. Trian has begun to move against you. I never thought his much-proclaimed honor would allow him to act on his jealousy. Big sister,” his eyes left hers and he shook his head in disbelief. “Trian is going to kill you.”

“What?”  The room seemed to spin around her. It was one thing for Trian to be rude or cruel to her, it was another to suggest murder. The sensible part of her head reminded her dwarven politics were a nasty game, and even princes and princesses weren’t free from it.

He professed, hand over his heart, “I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t overheard him giving orders to his men. Trian’s decided you’re a threat to his taking the throne.” He moved a bit closer and raised his eyebrows with a shrug. “Maybe he’s right.”

Sereda had to agree. She couldn’t pretend that the Assembly wouldn’t prefer her voice to his and her father gave her his favor as well. Yet, Trian was nearly ten years old than her with years more experience in politics. He would be a safe choice, no doubt.

Bhelen continued, his voice low, “It would be unusual for the Assembly to ignore the king’s choice, but it does happen.”

Gorim had stepped nearer to her and whispered, “The founder of House Bemot became a Paragon and king in one move from the Assembly, and he was a commoner.”

“At least a half-dozen times the Assembly named a lesser family member—or even someone from another house—as king. Twice, it was a woman.”

“So Trian believes the Assembly would prefer me?”

Bhelen nodded. “Look at it from his perspective. You’re more personable than he’s ever been. You entered the Provings held in your own honor just to please the crowds! If you win against the darkspawn tomorrow, it’ll only strengthen the case for you as the next heir. He fears Father will replace him on the spot. If not, the Assembly will surely turn against him when Father dies. You know Trian’s pride will never allow him to step aside.”

“Why are you telling _me_ this, and not Father? We should go to him-” She turned to the door, held back by Bhelen’s hand tight on her arm.

“Father would confront Trian and it would be a bloodbath. And it seems Trian has shown that brothers can’t always be trusted. I am next in line, after you. If Trian succeeds, how long do you think I’ll live?”

Sereda nodded, the picture forming in her head. Trian and his men would likely kill her father, and probably Bhelen, too. She couldn’t allow her family to be slaughtered. As much as she hated the idea of fighting Trian, the idea of losing Bhelen cut worst.  

“Gorim,” she turned to her second, whose face was pale behind his beard. “What do you say?”

“Permission to speak freely?” She knew it was for Bhelen’s benefit. They had long since given up formalities in private. She nodded and Gorim spoke with care, “Trian would be a terrible king, but no one wants to say it. He has just enough backing in the Assembly to make it ugly when your father dies, but not enough to become king. Killing him makes your house stronger now and saves a great deal of bloodshed later.”

It was a good point. It would be simple enough, probably. A slit throat while he slept could be accomplished by any ambitious member of the Carta, or perhaps he would trip and fall in the Deep Roads… 

Guilt twisted in her stomach, sickening her. If she did this, if she plotted against him, how could she have the higher ground? She would be doing exactly what Trian was. “No,” she said sharply, Bhelen and Gorim exchanging a glance. “I won’t fight a brother.”

Bhelen bowed. “You’re my elder. I’ll respect any decision you make, but please, be careful. I don’t want to lose my dearest sister.” He cupped her cheek and she laid her own hand over it, smiling.

“I am glad for your concern, Bhelen. Thank you.”

He stepped back, moving towards his bed. “You’re welcome, sister. I’m taking your place as Father’s second, so I’ll be at hand tomorrow. For now, try to get some sleep.”

She wanted to laugh at the suggestion, given what they had been discussing, but she simply wished him a good night and headed back to her room with Gorim in tow. Anxiety began to creep in as her mind went through all the possibilities of Trian’s plans. Would he make it look like an accident? Or would he be open with his intentions, challenging her to a glory Proving? Either seemed likely for him, he was both ruthless and honorable. When she reached her bedroom, hand on the knob, she realized that he might move against her on the morrow; a tragic accident for her first command.

This could be her last night alive. Time to throw caution to the stone.

With the door open and Sereda stepping inside, Gorim bowed to bid her a good night as well, but she yanked him into the room before he could get away.

“My lady, I should really get back to the barracks. Someone will talk…” His protests were weak, though, as she pulled him tightly against her, pressing her back into the wall.

“Please stay here with me, Gorim. I don’t want to be alone tonight. And… we may not have tomorrow.” She stared into his eyes, trying to seem not as desperate as she felt.

He calculated, as he always did. He was much more afraid of getting caught than she was. Still, a woman begging him to stay the night was too hard for even the stout of heart Gorim to resist. He kissed her hard, lips crashing against hers, his hands on her armored hips. He groaned when she opened her mouth to him and slipped her own hands to thread through his hair.

His fingers made quick work of the buckles on her armor as they kissed and she was glad for all the times he helped her in and out of it. Soon the metal fell away and she stood in only her cotton underclothes. She broke their embrace and pointed to the doorway, unable to put words together in the fog of lust. He moved to the door, shutting and locking it swiftly before returning to kneel at her feet.

“Oh, my lady,” he breathed, his mouth running the length of her muscled stomach down to her thighs. She shivered at the heat of his mouth, her hand returning to his hair, and she nearly shouted when he yanked her smallclothes down to bare her to him. He pulled off his gloves and ran a finger between her legs, whistling low. She chuckled and spread open for him, the shyness between them long gone.

His mouth met her and she gasped, pleasure already roiling within her stomach. Soon she was panting and gasping, her fingers pulling at his red locks harder and harder. When she came, his name was the silent word on her lips as she shook against him. He pulled back, looking reverently up at her flushed face.

“Sereda,” hearing him say her name sent another thrill through her, as rare as it was. “Shall we go to bed?” He wiped his beard and grinned wickedly up at her.

She nodded enthusiastically and shrieked with joy when he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

A knock on her door startled Sereda from sleep and she bolted upright from uneasy rest. The room was pitch black for a moment, the lanterns burnt out as they had slept, but with a blink her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Gorim snored beside her, his hairy chest rising and falling with the lumbering notes. She smiled down at him and pecked his cheek before climbing from the bed. She grabbed her dressing gown and glided to the door, dancing around her furniture with practiced steps.

The guard at the door bowed low when she opened it before handing her a torch. “My lady, the king is beginning to gather up troops and head to the Deep Roads. He bade you come as soon as you’re able.” She thanked him and shut the door, lighting the lanterns around her room.

When all were aglow, she gently laid a hand on Gorim’s chest, shaking him. “Gorim, my heart, we have to get ready.”

He groaned and rolled over, his eyes still shut. “Can you not do battle without me, my lady? Your bed is altogether too comfortable.” She chuckled and dress in her grandmother’s armor, buckling it with a smile.

Eventually Gorim managed to tear himself from the bed, duty overcoming exhaustion, and he helped her with the rest of the suit. She murmured happily when she caught sight of his naked body, running her hands over his chest before she began to help him with his own armor.

“As much as I enjoyed being here last night, we have to be more careful, my lady,” Gorim chastised as she strapped his gauntlet on.

She scoffed. “Because it’s so much safer for me to sneak out of the palace and for us to rut in the street like animals.” He laughed and inclined his head to touch it to her hers.

“I’m just afraid of what would happen if we were caught. Your family is not prudish, but still.”

“You’re right. I just… It was nice to wake up beside you.” He grinned and ran a hand along her cheek.

“We should get going. We don’t want to keep your father waiting.” She acquiesced with a sigh and headed to the door.

The entrance to the Deep Roads was already crowded with troops. Gorim helped her muscle her way through and she was thrilled by the cheer that went up when the soldiers caught sight of their new commander. She chatted with some of them, accepting their well-wishes and congratulations. Many had already accompanied her on missions into the Deep Roads, while others enthused on their excitement to serve with her.

Sereda caught sight of her father and brothers, and she made her excuses to the young warrior she was speaking to. Harrowmont was the addressing the Aeducans in front of the darkspawn tunnels off the main roads.

“Trian and his men will clear the way for the Grey Wardens to descend into the easternmost caverns. And Bhelen, you and your men will second the king, clearing the main road.”

“May the Paragons favor you, and the Stone catch you if you fall.” The king pulled Trian forward and kissed his forehead. Trian smiled, honored to have his father’s blessing, but it fell quickly when he met Sereda’s eyes.

“Come, men,” Trian barked, shoving past his sister. “Glory awaits!” His men fell into rank behind him and the clatter of swords and shields rose. _Would it be today,_ she wondered.

Bhelen bowed his head dutifully, but leaned in to whisper. “Don’t you think it looks a little… cowardly to allow these humans to take our place where the fighting is thickest?” While she didn’t agree, she did have to credit Bhelen for thinking politically. He was so infrequently interested in the running of Orzammar, that even an ill-timed thought was better than none.

Harrowmont laughed. “Are _you_ questioning the battle plan?” Bhelen grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

He bowed. “Of course not. I’m sure your caution is for the glory of us all,” he said, sarcasm a step away in his tone.

King Endrin pulled him forward and kissed his youngest son’s head before saying, “Enough, Bhelen. Take your men and make ready. We need to have words with your sister.”

Bhelen brushed past them, giving only a brief nod to Sereda as he went. His troops began to stir and followed him down the main road.

Harrowmont motioned Sereda and Gorim to come closer. “Your father has a special mission for you, my lady. One of the utmost importance.”

“In the eastern Deep Roads, there is a secret door carved into the stone. It leads to a thaig thought to have been abandoned long ago by our ancestors. The darkspawn have made it impossible to reach until now. If it truly is the Aeducan thaig, then the Shield of Aeducan lies within!”

The Shield of Aeducan had been lost long ago, presumed hidden with the thaig and out of reach. If Trian worried she would find glory against the darkspawn and replace him now, he would be furious if she found their ancestors’ shield and presented it. But, he would be powerless to move against her if she was named heir in front of all of Orzammar. This shield could protect her in more ways than one.

Lord Harrowmont picked up where the king had left off. “We’ve sent two scouts ahead to make sure your path is clear. When you get to the door, you’ll only need your signet ring to open it. Find the shield and bring it to the crossroads, where you can gift it to the king in front of all the soldiers and their lords. After, you and your men will join the fray.”

She bowed to get a kiss and a blessing from her father, her heart soaring to see his proud smile. “May the Ancestors watch over you, my child.”    

Gorim and Sereda set off without another word, stepping off the main road and down the darkspawn made tunnel. They made quick and silent work of an errant pair of genlocks they encountered, both eager to reach the shield.

Suddenly sentimental, Gorim brushed his hand against hers. “My lady, I’m honored to be by your side as we find the shield of your ancestors.”

“And I’m honored to have you. Perhaps my father will grant you a boon for helping me. Who’s to say that the hand of his daughter would not be a fitting reward?” Gorim chuckled, seeing through her formality. He pulled her to a stop within a large crossroads, their path ahead lying in a tunnel to the east.

“My lady,” Gorim started. He cleared his throat and shook his head, trying again. “I know that there is no way that we will ever wed-”

“Not with that attitude,” she interjected, standing on her toes to peck his nose.

“I’m being serious, Sereda. We may never wed in the eyes of the Ancestors, but I want you to know that… Well I consider you my wife in all but name.”

Her heart squeezed happily. “I feel the same, my love. Let’s find this shield so we can go reaffirm our vows.” She pulled him by his braided beard to kiss him full on the lips, her chest light with happiness and fear. He broke apart with a chuckle and bade her to lead the way.

They soon reached a large cavern filled with statues of Aeducan heroes, each more magnificent than the last. Standing between a particularly large vision of Paragon Aeducan and a smaller one of the Grey Warden Durnan were the two scouts promised them by the king. One was a member of the warrior caste who gave his name as Angrin and the other was Frandlin Ivo.

“You made it, Commander. Did you run afoul of any darkspawn?” The Ivo warrior bowed respectfully when Sereda came into view.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. Is the door through here?” The scouts nodded, both stepping aside so she could take the front. She slowed to a shuffle when the door came in sight, wide open besides a body lying across the threshold.

Sereda crept up to it, fearing a darkspawn trick. Unfortunately for the dead dwarf, but good news for her party, it was not. He had tattoos surrounding his cheeks, telling her that there was little point in worrying for him. He was just some unknown, casteless thug. She examined the door instead, seeing the indentation that her house signet ring would perfectly fit within.

Gorim knelt down to shut the duster’s eyes and noted, “It looks like someone beat us to the door.”

“They’d have to have a signet ring to get in. There’s no other way.” Sereda stepped through the doorway to check out the thaig. It was enormous, the ceiling higher than any other part of the Deep Roads she had seen. The lava cast a warm glow over the stone, and it was as if the whole thaig was carved from gold. A large bridge went from the door over a river of magma, but she was unable to see what was on the other side. They’d have to chance it.

She turned back to the others as they pondered. “It could have been stolen generations back,” Frandlin suggested; his face said he thought otherwise.

Helpfully, Angrin chimed in. “Or it could be some ambitious cousin, out for his own glory.”

“Whoever it is will regret it,” Sereda vowed. “That shield is mine. Let’s go.” The four of them moved around the body, not bothering to give him rites. They tiptoed over the bridge, weapons in hand and breath held. Their stealth was for naught. Before they reached the other side, a dozen men emerged from the shadows and doorways of the thaig like deepstalkers. Mercenaries, by the look of them. Armed to the teeth and most sporting the tattoos of the casteless.

“So glad you could finally join us.” The presumed captain sneered from his crowd of goons, twirling a dagger about his hands. “We feared you’d gotten eaten by darkspawn. Turns out this shield isn’t quite as easy to retrieve as I was lead to believe.”

He pointed his blade at Sereda with a grin. “I wager you know where it is, though. So maybe you’ll tell me where to find it, and I don’t let my boys have a go at you before I kill you.”

“Such a tempting offer, but I’ll have to pass,” Sereda slid her own dagger from her belt, a blade in each hand now. The lightning dagger crackled in the heavy silence.

“Well, you had your chance. Kill these idiots!” The mercenaries rushed forward at once, flanking Sereda and her men.

The four of them sprang into action. She threw her dagger, grateful for the years of target practice when it sank itself into the captain’s eye, producing a bloodcurdling screech. His men lost some heart to hear it, but didn’t back down. Gorim swung his maul to his right, knocking down one of the dusters, while Angrin drew his longbow and loosed a pair of arrows into a mercenary gunning straight for them. Frandlin plunged his own dagger into the nearest mercenary’s throat with an exhilarated shout before charging forward.

The rest of the fighting was over relatively quickly. _It never really takes long,_ she mused as she yanked an arrow that had been caught in a joint of her grandmother’s armor. Many as they were, a duster gang was no match for a squad of properly trained warriors. Sereda bent down to retrieve her dagger from the captain’s eye, wiping the blood off on his shirt. She searched him, hoping to discover his employer. Instead, she felt only a ring in his pocket.

She pulled it out slowly, her fingers already running over the familiar grooves and notches. An Aeducan signet ring. It was like the one she wore, except for a small “T” carved inside the band. She held it in front of her, the bearded face of Paragon Aeducan staring back.

“It’s Trian’s,” she stated simply when Gorim came to see why she stopped.

“The ring is Trian’s? That means he…” They both knew what it meant. Bhelen was right, but she never expected Trian to hire mercenaries to do his dirty work. _You can plot to kill me, but at least do it yourself._ Rage bubbled in her veins, and she shot Gorim a murderous look.

“He will pay for this. Mark my words.” 

Gorim nodded, looking about the thaig. “The first way we can hurt him is to find that shield ourselves.”

Sereda turned to Frandlin and Angrin, shouting with more force than she needed, “Search the buildings! Look everywhere!” They both got to work immediately, disappearing into the recesses of the thaig. Gorim laid a hand on her armored shoulder before joining the others.

 _Trian_. His name boiled her blood. She sat down on the steps in front of a broken-down ballista, lost in thought. She had no idea how to proceed. She would get the shield, of course, but then what? She could show her father the ring, but it would be her word against Trian’s. Neither of them was known to be a liar, but would the king take her word over his eldest son’s? Bhelen would also lend his voice, but Sereda worried that would only make him a target too. If her father didn’t believe them and Trian wasn’t punished it would be signing their death warrants.

 _But_ , she thought with a hint of triumph, _I’ll have the shield._ Her father would surely believe her with the Shield of Aeducan on her back. And even if he didn’t actually believe her tale, he couldn’t very well call her a liar in front of the other nobles and deshyrs when she held the shield of their ancestors.

Gorim’s voice snapped her from her thoughts. “My lady! We’ve found it!”

“You found the shield?” She jogged over, the ring and its owner momentarily forgotten.

Gorim shook his head, but pointed excitedly to a doorway at the furthest end of the thaig. “This door has no handle or lock, only a small hole. Like might fit a ring.”

She would have kissed him, save the scouts were not right behind him. She settled for a tight hand clasp before going to the door herself. She slid her signet ring off and pressed it into the door; she wouldn’t give Trian the satisfaction of using his. The door groaned open and dust swirled as the four of them entered.

It was a small crypt, empty except for two sarcophagi in the center of the room. One had the carved visage of an Aeducan ancestor, stern and beard-faced, while the other was a plain stone slab. It had to be in one of the coffins, they agreed, but which one?

“I don’t… think it’s in this one… my lady,” Gorim panted as the four of them strained to pry open the plain sarcophagus.

“I would have to agree.” Angrin flopped to the ground, wiping sweat from his brow with a sleeve.

Sereda strode over to the other tomb, pushing it open with relative ease. A skeleton in splendid armor was all that lie within it. “It _has_ to be that one. There’s nothing else in here!” As she walked around the plain tomb, she noticed an indented tile on the floor. Two others just like it sat at equal lengths from her.

“Gorim, stand here, and Frandlin, stand over on the right side. Angrin, stand on the left!” The men moved to their spots. Sereda clapped her hands and hooted with glee as the stone slab began to slide open.

The shield lay within, cushioned on a bed of velvet. The yellow face of Paragon Aeducan looked up at her from the shield and her heart lifted. _Here_ , she thought, _here is my revenge against Trian._

“It doesn’t look like much,” Angrin muttered, shuffling from foot to foot.

Internally, Sereda agreed. The shield had clearly seen battle, with deep grooves crossing the heraldry on its nose. But, she wouldn’t say it out loud. Holding it above her, she declared, “The strength of Paragon Aeducan is in this shield!”

“I can feel it,” Gorim echoed. “It’s inspirational!”

“If you say so. It’s just a shield.” Sereda glared at the scout, wondering why her father would have trusted a low-born man to this mission. At least she’d be rid of him soon enough.

“Back to the crossroads to present the shield!” Sereda put it on her back, thrilled to feel its weight against her. The honor of Paragon Aeducan would carry her from Trian’s machinations.      

They reached the crossroads without incident, but Gorim stopped short in front of Sereda, drawing his maul. Bodies were strewn about the cavern. Sereda pulled her dagger out and moved forward slowly, pushing past her second and holding a hand up to halt their companions. She circled around a body topped with blonde hair and she couldn’t help her shriek when she finally saw its face

“By the Stone!” Gorim swore. “It’s Trian!” Sereda rushed to her brother’s side, hands pressed against his slit throat. The blood was already drying on his neck and armor.

“Trian?! Trian! Wake up!” She shook his shoulders roughly, holding back vomit when his head lolled back. The gash went down nearly to the bone.

“It must have been a darkspawn attack,” Frandlin called from the tunnel.

The other scout disagreed. He strolled close enough to see the bodies and gave his own opinion. “This doesn’t look like darkspawn. No bites, no scratches, no mutilation on any of them…”

Meanwhile, Gorim was trying to pull Sereda away from her brother. Her heart was thudding so strongly beneath her breast that she thought it would beat its way out. _Who did this? Was it the mercenaries who had his ring?_ She was glad she had killed them, but what if there were more?  

“We need to warn Father!” She didn’t stand, but looked up to Gorim’s horrified face. She was about to order him to go, run as fast as he could until he reached the king, but the sound of approaching footsteps silenced her.

They came up the tunnel from the main road, the one Sereda had walked what felt like only a moment before. It was the king, accompanied by her brother Bhelen, a few lords, and a handful of guards. Sereda felt calmer in an instant. Her father was safe. They would be able to figure out what to do together. She relaxed back to sit on her heels, her bloodied hands resting on her knees.

“Hurry father! Before it’s too-” Bhelen stopped short, his eyes wide with shock.

Endrin was not one to heed the words of others. He shoved past his son and fell to the stone in front of Trian’s body. “By all the Ancestors,” he cried. “What has happened here?” Sereda reached over to clasp her father’s hand, but he yanked it away, instead bowing over Trian’s body protectively.

Lord Bemot, standing at the back of the king’s party, spoke over them. “It seems we weren’t fast enough! Lord Bhelen was right!”

“My daughter,” King Endrin’s voice cracked as he looked up into her eyes. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

Her father couldn’t be accusing her, could he? He knew her better than that! Sereda cocked her head and replied simply. “We just got here a moment ago-”

“Just long enough to slay Trian!” Bhelen interrupted her, his hand going to the king’s shoulder to pull him back. Sereda met his eyes, the same electric blue as hers. She couldn’t read what lie within them except unbridled hatred. But, he knew that Trian was the one scheming. Trian was the one plotting to kill them…

Gorim valiantly defended her. “My lady is innocent!” He clenched his maul tightly as he looked at the lords in front of them.

Lord Harrowmont replied with sorrow in his dulcet voice. “Ser Gorim, your… loyalty to Lady Aeducan unfortunately makes you a useless witness. You, scout, what happened here?”

Angrin bowed before speaking, an audible shudder in his words. “Trian and his men got here early. It seems they’d been fighting the darkspawn. Lady Aeducan went up to them, all friendly-like, but when we got close, she ordered us to attack! Frandlin and me, we stood back, but we couldn’t do anything to help them.”

Sereda stood violently, one hand going to her dagger. “You will let this man question my honor?” She looked between the king, whose eyes had returned to his eldest child’s body, and Lord Harrowmont, who was only grimacing.

Lord Meino agreed. “It is a valid question. The man is clearly low-born and could be easily bought.”

Lord Bemot nodded enthusiastically, looking back to the other pathway. Obviously the lords were reluctant to condemn the princess on the word of a lower caste scout. “Frandlin Ivo, you are a good and noble man. Did he speak the truth?”

Frandlin would support her. Sereda breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the Ancestors that she had given him the helm at the Proving. The helm he wasn’t wearing today, despite knowing he would be fighting alongside her…

“He… he did, my lord.” Sereda whirled around, starting to march towards him. “It was… terrible. Prince Trian didn’t stand a chance-”

“You treacherous bastard!” Sereda shouted, but Gorim dropped his maul to hold her back. She fought against him, shouting more obscenities as she tried to break free.

The king stood with a shout. “Silence, Sereda!” They all followed the command, Sereda stopping in her tracks, head hung. _Why_? It was all she could think.

“Do you have anything else to say, my daughter?” Gorim released her arms, reaching for her as she moved away. She went to her father and fell at his feet, pulling his hands into her own. He didn’t shy away this time, even when Bhelen clasped his arm.

“How can you not see that this is a setup? We were set upon by mercenaries in the thaig, they wanted the shield! Clearly they’ve engineered this-”

King Endrin pulled his hands away as two of the guards grabbed her from behind. “I want to believe that, dear daughter, I really do.” He allowed Bhelen to lead him away from her, her brother’s face transforming from rage and sorrow to _triumph_. It came together in a thundering instant and Sereda’s heart slammed to the floor. Bhelen? Her baby brother did this? 

He smirked over his shoulder at her and Sereda nearly weaseled out of the grasp of the guardsmen by sheer rage. Lord Harrowmont shouted at them to bind her wrists before she could escape. “She will be judged before the Assembly. To Orzammar!” And they were off at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been a very long while! This chapter was a labor of love (emphasis on labor), but eventually you have to stop fiddling and just post it! I'm glad to be getting this story back on track!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

She could hardly keep her feet moving. _Bhelen_? It was so unlike him. He never cared about politics! In all her years her father hadn’t been able to get Bhelen to attend even a single Assembly meeting. When Sereda mentioned any of the noble houses in passing, he would yawn pointedly and take his leave. _He_ orchestrated this? Sereda didn’t believe it. She looked around her, disappointed to realize that she was alone with the guards. It seemed Lord Harrowmont couldn’t stomach taking her to jail himself. Gorim had been whisked off with the others, shouting the whole way.

They reached the dungeons in short order, or perhaps it took hours. Sereda was losing her grasp on the stone beneath her. Her feet stopped cooperating entirely at one point, the guard on her left yanking her up so hard she thought he’d pulled her shoulder from its socket.

“Watch it!” She couldn’t help it. Years of being a princess didn’t melt away in an instant. The guard sneered and kicked her leg out from under her. She fell to her knees with a cry, tears forming as she hit the hard stone. She was silent when he pulled her back to standing, even when the right guard snickered. The other prisoners jeered at her, laughing to see a noble brought low. She couldn’t see their sneering faces in her daze.

They cut the rope off her hands and stripped her of her armor and her weapons, the jailer appearing with a ragged dress for her to wear. Mercifully, they averted their gaze as she changed, but once she stopped rustling, the guards seized her arms again.

They opened a cell door and the guard led her in, throwing her to the ground.

She looked up at him, screaming. “I’m still your princess! You will treat me with-” The guard laughed outright and bent down to wrench her left arm flat on the stone floor. Before she could pull away, he slammed his iron boot down. The pain seared immediately, and she couldn’t hear his laughter over the sound of her shrieks.

She went in and out of herself for a while, the pain in her arm going from a white hot sear to a deep throbbing. When she could stand to keep her eyes open, she noticed a small plate of food had been shoved in the cell. She kicked it away angrily.

They didn’t bring any more. What might have been hours, or could have been days, passed in relative silence. She couldn’t see the other prisoners from her cell, which was the only thing she could count a blessing, and the jailers strolled by infrequently to observe her. Sereda simply lay in the straw and wished the time away.

She wished they would take her to the Assembly and get her trial started. She wished she hadn’t been so foolish to trust Bhelen. She wished her father would come and rescue her or that her mother would appear, healthy and hale, to hold her close and comfort her. Above all, she wished to wake up and find it was all a dream. 

The creak of the dungeon gates roused Sereda from a nap and groggily she sat up. She wasn’t sure how long it had been that she’d slept, it certainly didn’t feel more than a few hours, but the lanterns burned low. Morning, then? Her sense of time had been skewed by the golden glow of the dungeon lamps, and the jailers didn’t speak to the prisoners.

“You have five minutes,” the jailer barked as footsteps approached. Sereda stood, smoothing down the front of the tattered dress with her right hand before picking straw from her hair. Had her father come to see her at last? Surely he would come when they released her, to apologize and console her no doubt.

The jailer’s companion came into view, and it was a bittersweet surprise. Under normal circumstances, she loved to see Gorim’s ruddy cheeks and braided beard, but she knew instantly he wouldn’t bring glad tidings from the grim line of his mouth.

“I… I would have come sooner had they allowed it.” Gorim stood a few feet back from the bars, his eyes focused firmly on his boots. Sereda walked forward to lean on the metal gate, gingerly resting her left arm. When she was closer, Gorim looked up, a sad smile on his face. “How are you,” he asked lamely, his cheeks going red when he realized the insignificance of her answer. Sereda wanted to reach through the bars if only to hold his hand, but the jailer eyed them suspiciously before he began his rounds.

Sereda ignored his question, asserting, “Why has the Assembly not sent for me yet? My trial should have taken place days ago.” Her voice was coarse to her ears. A combination of shouting and a lack of water burned her throat, and she could hear how pitiful she sounded.

“The Assembly isn’t going to call for you.” Before Sereda could protest, Gorim began to rush words out, “Bhelen has taken Trian’s place in the Assembly, as you could guess, and he introduced a motion to condemn you immediately, instead of a trial. It passed easily. He had over half the Assembly ready to vote on something completely against tradition and justice! He must have been making deals and alliances for months, if not years.” Her second seethed, his hands clenched at his sides.

She couldn’t wrap her mind around what he was saying quite yet. If there wasn’t to be a trial… She focused on what she could, and murmured, “So Bhelen will be king when my father dies.” Gorim nodded, his eyes pained.

“He has a strong chance, to say the least. Some of the lords, especially Harrowmont, are suspicious of Bhelen’s instant rise to power. They are rallying, but far too slowly--”

“As usual,” she interjected, and the jibe softened Gorim’s brow for a moment.

Hesitating, and with a sigh, Gorim finished, “The Assembly has already sentenced the both of us.”

“Both? They’ve sentenced you as well? But you did nothing wrong!” She grasped the bars in front of her, squeezing as indignation flooded her. Gorim stepped closer for a moment, but a cough from the jailer put him back in his spot. Sereda shut her eyes and relented, “What’s going to happen to you?”

“My knighthood will be stripped, my name torn from my family records… but I will be allowed to attempt some sort of life on the surface. A mercy.” He spoke the last part with more than a touch of sarcasm and Sereda’s heart broke for him. It was bittersweet; she was glad he would be able to live, but she knew how much the pain of exile would cut him. She reached out, not caring if the guard saw, and Gorim moved forward to clasp her hand over his cheek. Without meeting her eyes, Gorim continued, “Lord Harrowmont moved for a similar exile for you, but Bhelen’s supporters overwhelmed him. You’re…”

He took a deep, shuddering breath in, and Sereda swiped her thumb across his cheek. “It’s all right, Gorim. I’m not expecting pleasant news.”

“You’re to be sealed in the Deep Roads to fight darkspawn until you are overwhelmed and killed.”

Sereda’s mind swam and if it was not for the cold metal against her, she would have fainted. She had known, deep in her bones, that exile was to be her fate before he had said it. It was the way of her people. Knowing was one thing, but to hear it so plainly…

In her heart, she couldn’t even be distraught. If it had been anyone else sitting in this cell, she would have been the first to call for exile. “She’s a fool!” She would shout, her face contorted in anger. “Better to let her rot than have her weaken us!” Orzammar was no place for idiots.

She’d been utterly played by Bhelen, likely had been for years. While she had fretted over his safety and worried about Trian’s treachery, he had been plotting and scheming. Her father had warned her whole life to never trust another dwarf, especially not a family member. She certainly hadn’t trusted Trian, but Bhelen…

She deserved to die this way, she decided in that moment. She’d dishonored her house. Not by murdering Trian, as they all clearly thought, but by forgetting who she was. Her life was forfeit from the moment she was born, and she should have fought harder to keep it. She had failed in her obligation to her name, and now the only road to redemption lay in front of her.

As she resigned herself to her fate, a tear from Gorim’s eye hit her hand. He knew quite a lot about duty and honor, but he wouldn’t understand this. Even if he didn’t say it, their love had softened his heart from the hard stone it had been when they met. He wouldn’t want to hear her agree with the verdict. With venom she didn’t feel, she spat, “The cowards weren’t strong enough to kill me themselves.”

Chuckling, either unaware or uncaring of how false her bravado was, Gorim replied, “That may have been Bhelen’s first mistake.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sounds coming from the jailer’s boots on the stone floors and the lanterns hissing. The jailer’s pacing took him away to check the other cells, and Gorim glanced about. He tightened his grip on her hand again, and whispered with urgency, “Lord Harrowmont gave me access to see you so I could tell you this: Duncan and the Grey Wardens are still in the Deep Roads, in tunnels connected to those you are to be left in. If you… survive long enough to find them, you may be able to escape.”

Without thinking, she pronounced, “I deserve no such mercy.”

“My lady, please,” Gorim pleaded. “Do not grant Bhelen this victory. Do not compound it by throwing away your life. As a Warden, you could make up for all that happened. The Grey Wardens don’t care about a person’s past. They recruit for daring, intelligence, and how well you swing a sword! If you can find them, I’m sure you can join them and escape the Deep Roads.” The pain in his eyes was evident, and Sereda’s argument died on her lips. He was begging this of her.

Treading carefully, she replied, “That’s not much of a chance, my love. You need to accept that I’m not coming out of this alive—” Gorim shook his head violently, stepping closer still. He leaned his forehead against the bars.

“I begged to go with you and fight at your side, but Bhelen’s pet nobles wouldn’t hear of it.”

“You’re going to be safer on the surface.”

“I would give up all the safety in the world to go down this dark path with you,” he said fiercely, his eyes burning into hers. She knew it was a trail she had to walk alone, but for a moment, she was comforted by the idea of him with her, side by side until death. But no, this whole ordeal was her fault, and she would make things right.

They were silent, soaking in the air between them with eyes shut. The jailer returned from his rounds, clearing his throat pointedly. Gorim stepped back, Sereda’s hand falling from his face.

“Our time is up,” he said gruffly, his eyes again averted. “May the Paragons guide your sword and the Stone hold you up.” The blessing was strained and he began to stride away without a backward glance.

“Wait, please.” She had to be brave in the Deep Roads, but for now, she could be a bit weak.

More tears falling down his face, Gorim whispered, “We have no time, my heart.”

“Just… Just hold me one last time.” It was for the both of them, she reasoned. She needed her strength soon, and Gorim deserved to hold her like her lover, instead of her bodyguard.

He hesitated. “The guards here won’t keep quiet about something like that. Your family will know…”

A bitter laugh escaped her, and she quelled it before she slipped into mania. “Who cares what they think now?”

Gorim smiled, the pain briefly fleeing his face, and he stepped back to the bars. The jailer coughed again, but they ignored him. “As you say, my dearest one.” He slipped his arms through the bars and wrapped them around Sereda’s waist, pressing her against the cool metal.

There was enough room for their faces, and Sereda swiftly leaned in to kiss him. It was passionate, different than their normal fire born of smothered moans and covert joinings. This was sorrowful, the heat coming from within their hearts. She deepened the kiss momentarily, wanting to taste him one last time, before she drew back. Their eyes met, and Sereda almost lost all her nerve. Gorim kissed her forehead, pressing his lips hard against her smooth skin before he whispered, “I must go now. I will always love you, my lady.”

He pulled away and was gone before Sereda could reply.

She hardly had time to choke out a sob when the guard came to the bars, his voice angry and commanding. “They’re ready for you.” Another guard began to unlock the gate while Sereda’s mind still fuzzy from Gorim’s goodbye.

They shackled her as she stared into the flickering lanterns. They weren’t gentle, and the pain in her arm, dulled as she had slept, awoke sharply. She wanted to protest, but to what avail? She was nothing to them. They pulled her down the stairs when she shuffled, her feet in discord with her mind. She knew that the Deep Roads was the right path for her, yet her body began to fight it. She struggled against the chains, and the guard twisted her broken arm again. She cried out and the world went wavy, but the guards held her up.

The dungeon had a direct path to the Deep Roads, a small mercy, she thought. The idea of being paraded through the streets of Orzammar, through Dust Town and the Commons… She had been _their_ princess, and now she walked in disgrace. Her father had once discussed making exiles walk that long walk, to shame them further, but her mother had objected. Sereda thanked her silently, glad that her mother had been blessed with a merciful heart.

Soon the cells gave way to a bridge and a lone figure at the end in front of the bronze gates. For a moment, Sereda thought it was her father, and she was cheered. Even if he wasn’t there to pardon her, at least she could see his face one last time, profess her innocence.

As they approached, the guards pulling her more in earnest now, Sereda realized the figure with their back to them wasn’t the king, but Lord Harrowmont. Was this better? At least Lord Harrowmont wouldn’t break her heart again.

“Here is the prisoner, Lord Harrowmont.” The guards stopped, holding Sereda up between them. Harrowmont turned around slowly, his face blank.

Without meeting Sereda’s eyes, he began a speech. “Having been found guilty of fratricide by the Assembly of Orzammar, you are hereby sentenced to exile and death. Your name is, from this point forward, stripped from the records. You are no longer a person, nor a memory. You are to be cast into the Deep Roads with only sword and shield, there to redeem your life by fighting the enemies of Orzammar until your death. Does the prisoner have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?”

Was this the man who had known her from her first day? In a daze, Sereda choked out, “I’m innocent.”

Harrowmont’s smooth veneer broke, and his eyes crinkled in sadness. “I want to believe that. Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t do this. For your father’s sake.”

“I didn’t kill Trian. But—”

Before she could continue, before she could confess her crime of negligence and foolishness, Harrowmont breathed a sigh of relief. “I believe you. That means Bhelen planned this from the start. Believe me; I will spend the rest of my days making sure he does not profit by his deeds.”

Harrowmont nodded to the guards, who let go of her arms and undid her shackles. She thought wildly that he was freeing her, but knew better. There was no going back now. Harrowmont pulled a sword with its scabbard from his hip and handed it to her, along with a shield lying at his feet.

“Your father asked me to give these to you. This sword and shield are of fine dwarven make. Strike a blow at our enemies.” Sereda nodded and followed him to the large doors.

“Tell my father…” She wanted him to know her innocence, but to what end? Whether he believed her or not, she would be dead in the Deep Roads. All her urging would do would be to break his heart further. The agony in his eyes as he held Trian’s body…

“Tell him I went to a warrior’s death.” Harrowmont nodded, his expression grave as he motioned to the guards.

“Open the doors and let the condemned walk through.” The guards moved from behind her to the large doors, both of them pressing forward. Air rushed into the chasm in front of them, dust and dirt flying along with it. Sereda took a hesitant step forward, suddenly afraid.

She longed to look back at Harrowmont, to plead for her life. He might grant her mercy. Her father had to do what was right for the kingdom, while Harrowmont could do what was right in his heart. He once said since he had no daughters of his own she was as close as he would get. She could go to the surface, and she wouldn’t tell a soul. She could tattoo her face and move to Dust Town, scraping guts off the streets when there was a riot. She didn’t want to die, not yet.

But suddenly a voice in her head spoke, a memory of years past. Her mother comforted her, a hand soft in her hair and another on her back. She was ten, and the first talk of marriage had been brought up after King Maric’s visit. He had jokingly brought up marrying Sereda to his son Cailan, and while all the adults had laughed, she’d been confused. Marriage? She was to be a warrior, like the rest of the Aeducans. She’d asked her father later and he had replied offhandedly that one day she would marry and join another house. It had been a shock, and she’d run to her mother’s bosom in tears.

“Don’t cry, Sere,” she’d said, her maternal smile already dulling the pain. “You’ll always be an Aeducan. No matter what happens, even the Ancestors can’t take that from you. The Stone bore you to be an Aeducan, and that is who you are.”

 _That is who you are_. An Aeducan didn’t beg. An Aeducan didn’t run. Sereda strode through the doors with her head held high, her heart as steel.

Harrowmont spoke behind her, the words softened as the doors began to close. “May the Stone accept you when you fall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! It's one of my favorites!
> 
> Any comments or kudos are appreciated immensely!


	6. Chapter 6

It was suddenly quiet. The only sounds Sereda heard were her own breathing, growing shakier by the moment, and the warm rush of lava in its pools. Sereda looked about her, taking in the vast space before her. It was a different section than the Aeducan Thaig, she was sure. She closed her eyes and felt the stone beneath her feet, the paths twisting in front of her. There was a large cave-in ahead, and she could sense that it went on for too long to climb over it. The stone felt heavy beneath it; she would have to go another way. The wall on her right had an opening dug out, most likely by scavenging darkspawn, and she made her way to it.

As she walked, she realized she had no idea what she was supposed to do. The stories always said that exiles died when they were overwhelmed, but did they seek the darkspawn out? Was she supposed to _find_ the darkspawn, or let them find her? Either way, she figured it would be shameful to just sit against the bronze doors. If anyone was exiled soon, and a large part of her was hoping it would be Bhelen next, they would trip over her body and feel embarrassed for her. So, she knew she had to at least move along the tunnel some.

She climbed over the railing and into the darkspawn-created passage, sliding the sword at her back out of its sheath. She affixed the shield to her arm, hissing as she tightened the straps. Pain radiated outward from the break, and she concluded the shield wouldn’t be of much use. Still, she pressed on with it, knowing how foolish it would be to leave herself vulnerable.

It was harder to navigate with her stone-sense in the tunnel. Darkspawn burrowed in a random pattern, striking wherever was softest in the stone. Dwarves went straight through, tunneling crisp lines and pathways. She closed her eyes a moment and laid her hand against the stone wall, steadying her breath. It sounded more ragged in the small tunnel. She would not be afraid, she decided. She would greet the Stone with honor.

She opened her eyes and resumed her stroll. A body lay ahead. Her stomach churned at the sight of it, bones within the dusty armor. She could loot the armor… The thought that this poor dwarf perhaps had done the same to someone else flitted in her mind. She was nearly close enough to touch it when she was stopped, silky strings clinging to her skin and hair.

_Cave spider_. She’d only seen a few in person in her trips to the Deep Roads, and was not overly fond of them. She struggled against the web, hoping to free herself before the spider found her, but it was too late. Skittering feet approached from behind, hissing at her. With a scream of pain, she shoved her shield forward, breaking enough of the strands for her to tumble out. The spider leaped on top of her, its pincers snapping at her face.

She swung her sword and did her best to stab at the beast, succeeding only in bluntly hitting it. The spider reared back, its many legs carrying it a few feet away. Sereda stood, her chest heaving. She fell into her protective fighting stance, her feet apart and her arms in front of her. Her left arm protested as the weight of the shield returned to it, but she kept it up as the beast charged her again.

With the shield, Sereda bashed the spider’s monstrous face, satisfied by the squeal it emitted. With the beast stunned, she swung her longsword down, cleaving it in two.

The spider’s guts oozed out and Sereda fought back a wave of nausea. She stood in the tunnel for a moment and caught her breath, watching the viscera spread slick on the stone. When the spider’s legs had stopped twitching, she turned to the dusty bones and their armor.

It was only a bit of chainmail, grey iron, but it would have to do. She shucked off the tattered dress, shivering in the cool Deep Roads air, and yanked the pieces on. It may have been too big for her once, but the buckles were rusted and worn and the links stiff. Maybe this fool had looted it from another who had looted it from another… It was a strange cycle; she had no idea how old the armor was. No matter how elderly, it was sturdier than cotton. The boots were much too large, though, and she nearly tripped when she took a few steps.

“Barefoot I continue, then,” she said aloud if only to smother some silence. She moved the bones around and nearly jumped out of her skin when metal clanged against the stone. A dagger had slid from the bones and hit the ground. It was a wicked looking thing, twisted and rusted, but Sereda was glad for it. She gingerly pulled the shield from her arm, crying out when she was relieved of its weight, and laid it on the pile of bones. She thanked her father for the gift and slid the dagger into her belt.

She had turned to leave when a thread of guilt pulled through her. She turned back to the bones and picked up a handful of rocks nearby, setting them on the wider bones.

“Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc.” _May you find your way in the dark. You have done your duty for our people._ They were the words Sereda had whispered when her mother had returned to the Stone, and it felt right to do it here.

She continued on, her arm already feeling better without the shield on it. She knew she would have to set it if she wanted it to heal right, but… It seemed unnecessary under these circumstances. She figured that, even if it got worse, it wouldn’t be what killed her.

The tunnel gave way to a cavern, but before Sereda could go more than a few steps, a genlock snarled and rushed her. Without a moment’s thought, she slid the dagger from her belt and whipped it across the beast’s throat while whirling the longsword into its neck. The head rolled away and the body thumped to the stone in a moment.

“One down, a million to go,” she quipped as she searched the body for anything else she could use.

It was a steady pattern from there. Hours passed as she made her way through the tunnels. She was able to find some gloves on the skeleton of what she guessed used to be a human. The fingers were a bit too long, but the leather was welcome against the blisters forming on her palms. The cavern gave way to tunnels and then to back to caverns, an endless cycle. She was actually glad to fight a group of deepstalkers to break up the blighted monotony.

After the Stone knows how long, Sereda could hardly keep her eyes open, despite the constant yellow glow of the Deep Roads. Alas, she had no idea if it was day or night. It was strange, to not know what time it was. The bells in Orzammar kept the time of the city for as long as any dwarf could remember, and when Sereda strained her ears, she could almost tell herself she heard them. There was nothing but fear to keep her from dozing off, and even that was receding. She followed a tunnel to a dead end, clearing out a small nest of deepstalkers before she settled down. She sat with her back against the warm stone, her dagger and her longsword firmly in her hands.

She slipped into the darkness of sleep much quicker than she would have imagined. When she woke, only the fact that insects had nearly cleaned the deepstalkers down to their bones told her that time had passed. As she stood, muscles sore from the stone and the tense sleep, Sereda noted that her stomach had begun to ache fiercely.

When was the last time she ate? It had to have been at least a day, but the sick feeling in her gut told her it had probably been closer to three. She cursed herself for not eating the deepstalkers when she had the chance, and she stepped over their bones ruefully. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

She wandered on, increasingly angry. She stopped at another skeleton, searching for any sort of food she could take. The armor was intact, the decayed flesh more or less where you would expect it. In fact, Sereda had yet to find a corpse that seemed to be a victim of any violence. Did all the exiles fall, famished?

“I’m supposed to be overwhelmed by darkspawn. But it’s seeming more and more like I’m just going to starve to death down here.” She patted the corpse’s head and gave up her search for it. She was too worried to give it any sort of rites and too hungry to feel shamed for it. She’d have given anything for a scrawny deepstalker to roast.

What had Trian said about them, when she was a child? Some rhyme to teach you the right way to prepare a deepstalker if you didn’t want to die from their venom. “Boil them up and boil yourself?” Sereda muttered, trying to recall it. Her brother had said it all the time and she chided herself now for being too annoyed at him to pay attention.

Maybe she would just starve after all. Days passed in a blur, or did they? She was sure it had been almost a week, or was it an hour, without seeing another one of the blasted creatures, and her stomach was cramping so badly she was hobbling bent over down the hallways now. “People go hungry in Dust Town all the time,” she encouraged herself. “I can go a bit longer.”

_People in Dust Town don’t eat four square meals a day their whole lives,_ she thought petulantly. But she had seen their hunger when she walked the Commons. Crying out for bread, or even just a sip of clean water, she’d given what she could. Now her cheeks flushed in embarrassment thinking of the occasional loaf she would hand out. That couldn’t sustain someone! Too bad she didn’t have this revelation when she had the chance to do something about it. The stone waved in front of her. Did it matter that the casteless were hungry? _At least they have homes! They have shoes!_ She slid to the ground. _They sometimes have shoes,_ she corrected herself, shamed again.

Her feet were blistered and bloody. Her stomach was turning in on itself. Her eyes ached at the constant light. Her left arm throbbed. “This is how I’ll die. Hungry and in pain. Not from some stupid darkspawn.”

Death by darkspawn felt a mercy at this point. She knew that they wouldn’t just happen upon her in the small tunnels. The way they dug the passageways allowed for quick access, not efficient troop movement. Only one or two could fit at a time, and they weren’t solitary creatures. Didn’t Duncan say that they were amassing on the surface? So there were even fewer in these tunnels than would be expected. She would have to seek out a cluster of them, she resolved.

Sereda pushed off the floor, the stone singing its support. She happily screamed with the effort to stand up, glad to be alone with the echoes. She limped along the tunnel, fresh air hitting her face to tell her she was headed towards the main roads. _Good, I have a better chance there_. The pain in her stomach seemed to abate as she thought of death closing in.

What would her father say now that she truly would die a warrior? Would it make it all better? She wondered as she shuffled if Bhelen would ever tell her father the truth. She doubted it, but she’d apparently misjudged them their whole lives. _Maybe he already knows_ , she thought, banishing it away an instant later. Not now. When she went to the Stone, she told herself, she could think on that.

Suddenly, the silence around her was replaced. She heard voices, actual speaking voices. They seemed so strange after the growls and hisses from the darkspawn that had been haunting her thoughts for days. She inched out of the tunnel, peeking her head around a pillar to see who was talking.

Humans. Four of them, standing in the middle of the road and arguing. One pointed north and claimed it would take them to the surface. Sereda shook her head from her hiding spot, couldn’t they see that the roads diverged there and took you to separate thaigs? It was the western passage they wanted; it gradually moved up, inch by inch until it reached the surface.

Another man bade them stop, and the voice tugged at her fogged brain. It was the Grey Warden Duncan and his fellows. It had seemed such a long shot to find them before, and yet here they stood. She could ask them for help…            

She stepped back into the tunnel. Is this what she wanted? It seemed cheap. Whether or not she had killed Trian, she had been sentenced to death. Leaving with the Grey Wardens was not what they had in mind when they sealed her in Deep Roads. And yet… She knew it was a shameless technicality, but Harrowmont _had_ said she was to fight darkspawn until they killed her. That was the very principle the Grey Wardens were founded on, was it not? Was it really shirking her duty if she was still fighting the enemies of Orzammar?

Besides, it seemed more and more likely she would die of starvation before the enemies of her people could overwhelm her. Surely the Grey Wardens were nobler than that?

The voices had disappeared as she crouched in the tunnel. It was now or never. If it was too loose an interpretation of her sentence, it did not matter. A small voice within her, not the voice of her mother or father, not the voice of Gorim or Harrowmont, but a voice she hardly listened to spoke up.

_Fuck them. It’s my life._

Those other voices no longer mattered. They had cast her into the Deep Roads and struck her name. To House Aeducan, she didn’t exist. Her mother bore only two children from the Stone, two sons. No daughter ran about the palace halls, giggling madly as she chased her kingly father. She did not cheer along with the princes when the king returned, triumphant again against the darkspawn. The princess was just a fancy, a fleeting thought extinguished with the slamming of the bronze doors. Sereda Aeducan never existed, so Sereda the Exile could do what she wanted.

She ran from the tunnel, her feet flying over the true stone. The cuts and bruises didn’t matter anymore, her arm didn’t ache, and her stomach felt as full as if she’d just had a feast. She could not hear her footfall over the sound of her hammering heart as she chased after the Wardens.

“Wait!” She shouted, her voice cracked and dry in the silent caverns. The Wardens turned, drawing their swords instinctively. Duncan held up a hand to stay their blades, though his eyes had widened in surprise too.

“Maker’s breath! It’s a dwarf!” Sereda wanted to make a snide remark, but she fell to her knees in silence, her legs giving out when she was close enough for the Wardens to see who she was.

“Lady Aeducan!” Duncan rushed forward to help her to her feet. She screamed in pain when he grasped her arm, but he didn’t flinch. “What are you doing here alone? Where are your troops?” He looked around them as if a battalion would appear from behind her.

Sereda squeezed her eyes against the pain and croaked, “I am Lady Aeducan no longer.”

“Ah.” She looked up at his cool, dark eyes, expecting confusion, only to be met with understanding. He clearly had met a few exiles in his day. “You were made to walk the Deep Roads, then?”

One of the other Wardens, a fellow who looked scarcely older than twenty, did not understand. “They left you here? What happened?”

She was unsure how to answer. Would they trust her if she told the truth? Would they keep her safe if she lied? They didn’t know her family, but surely they would frown on fratricide. Before she could decide, Duncan whipped his head around to glare at the questioner.

“I do not think matters of dwarven honor are any business of ours,” he said pointedly, and the other Wardens nodded their heads in agreement. Duncan turned back to Sereda, his eyes softening, “You need not answer, friend.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Sereda nodded. “Thank you,” she said weakly. Duncan pulled her to her feet, careful not to touch her left arm. Sereda felt woozy. The adrenaline that had her run to them suddenly had vanished, and she was sure she would pass out soon. Duncan eyed her swaying and kept his hand on her shoulder. One Warden’s eyes went to her shoe-less feet, unmasked horror on his face.

“It is not the way of this order to pass judgment on the pasts of others,” Duncan said carefully, his eyes intense. “You have proven yourself both resourceful and skilled and I would expect nothing less from an Aeducan. I have been searching for those with your level of ability. Surviving on your own in the Deep Roads sets you apart. As leader of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, I formally invite you to join our order.” It seemed less an invitation and more a demand.

He was a shrewd man. Ruthless and calculating, but not out of a bitter heart. He had to be this way. He had said before that the darkspawn were gathering on the surface, and the Wardens were desperate. Now, here she was at their mercy. Before offering shelter or food, he had offered her a place with the Wardens. She _knew_ if she declined that they would desert her. Perhaps they would give her some supplies, but they certainly wouldn’t protect her.

Even knowing the way to the surface wouldn’t get her very far in her condition. “I accept,” she said, feeling faint. She didn’t add that she would have done anything for a piece of bread in that moment.

Duncan smiled sadly and swept his arms out. “Then welcome! We leave immediately for Ostagar to join with the human forces, led by King Cailan, facing the darkspawn hordes. Stay close, there are still darkspawn around every corner.” Sereda nodded, keeping a manic laugh to herself.

The Wardens began to move north again, and Sereda held up a hand. “You’re going the wrong way. We need to go west to get to the surface.” She pointed over her shoulder. The Wardens exchanged glances, but Duncan began to confidently stride in the new direction.

The stone around her went hazy. “Oh, and I’m about to pass out,” Sereda said as the darkness overtook her.

She came to all at once, her body cooled by the stone she laid on. The feeling of the fresh air rushed over Sereda and she gasped at the cool tingle it left. The dwarves built vents into their cities to circulate air, but it never felt quite as… new as this. Sereda sat up, shocked to see that they were in the mouth of a cave, and not still underground. How long had she been out? Her arm was bandaged to her chest, and a quick glance down told her that her feet were wrapped as well. Her stomach still ached, but not as bad as was in the tunnels and she surmised they had given her some broth. Had she missed all of that?

She looked around the dark cave, half thankful and half disappointed that it appeared to be nighttime. Or perhaps that’s just what it looked like on the surface? She had never been past the large golden gates out of Orzammar, and suddenly she realized she had no idea what to expect. She had never planned on being on the surface.

Duncan was telling the other Wardens to set up camp, and he moved to help her to her feet when he saw she was sitting up. All of her ached suddenly, but she no longer felt the desperate pain she had in the Deep Roads.  

She thanked Duncan with a nod of her head and limped over to the others, setting up tents and a fire pit. Duncan looked around the cave before he declared, “Sereda and I will look for firewood. Be wary of darkspawn.” The others nodded and went about their duties while Duncan led her gently to the mouth of the cave.

Sereda nearly swooned as the stone gave way to trees. The world swam in front of her, and it was only Duncan’s grip on her arms that kept her from falling to her knees.

The _sky_. She had never seen it before, and here it was, open and wide in front of her. She had read about it in her studies, but it seemed so foreign and fake to her then. A vast expanse that was blue instead of stone grey? It was like a fairy tale. The lights, _stars_ she remembered, twinkled at her like gems in the hilt of a sword, and the moon was fat and heavy amongst them, round and proud and _real_. It provided enough light to illuminate the trees in front of her, seemingly endless. She shivered as the wind picked up again, and Duncan draped his cloak around her shoulders.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, Lady Aeducan. Take all the time you need.” He backed away slowly, perhaps unsure if she could support herself without him, and made his way down from the cave mouth to the tree line.

_By the Stone_. She had sworn as a child to never go to the surface. It had pleased her father to hear her say it; he had slipped her a treat before dinner and tweaked her cheek. She was a good dwarf, he had told her. Her own words came back to her in a rush, shame flooding her cheeks, “Surfacers are not dwarves,” she had sneered at Lord Dace, moving past him to her father’s throne. And yet here she was. She had buried her mother in the Stone, she had spent hours upon hours at the Shaperate to learn the story of her people, and she had prayed to her Ancestors for strength when her father told her of her first command.

Maybe she wasn’t an Aeducan, but she had to be a dwarf. Because if she wasn’t… What was she?

The sky became too much and Sereda thought she might fall from the ground and float away. She shuffled back into the cave, pulling Duncan’s cloak more tightly around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite chapters to write, and I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always, always appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, her first on the surface, Sereda woke to a toe gently pressing into her shoulder. She cracked her eyes to see Jon, illuminated by the dying fire, staring down at her with a curious smile.

“Morning, my lady. I thought you would want to see the sunrise.” Sereda sat up groggily and allowed Jon to pull her to her feet. He helped her navigate to the mouth of the cave; her feet were still raw beneath their bandages. They walked some ways away from the sleeping Wardens in their camp, Sereda suppressing a scream of surprise when her toes sunk into the wet, muddy ground. Jon giggled at her reaction, but quickly apologized and pointed to their right.

“Just watch there.”

The sky there was a new shade, a light blue with a golden tinge to the east. Sereda shrugged off his hands and squinted at the lightening horizon, each moment getting brighter and brighter. She looked up at Jon, who was beaming from ear to ear.

“Is this a normal human activity? To stand around and watch your sun? The Shaper said that it appears every day.”

“Oh it does,” Jon assured her, turning her back toward the east. “It doesn’t get any less spectacular, though.”

Sereda rolled her eyes and settled in to watch. If it was such a spectacle, why were the others still in their tents?

“Are you…” Jon began to ask but stopped himself. Sereda looked up at him, eyebrows raised in expectation.

He tried again. “Are you alright?”

It seemed a strange question. Physically, she had a broken arm, her feet were torn and sliced, she was exhausted in a way she had never been before, and she was afraid she would float away if she didn’t actively think of the Stone. Beyond all that ailed her body, she was heartbroken. Trian was dead, Bhelen set her up, and her father cast her out. She would never see the king again, nor any king of Orzammar after that. She would never fight in another Proving, never lead her troops to battle in the Deep Roads, never again see her mother’s final place in the Stone…

She looked to the ground, focusing on the rocks and pebbles that were scattered through the brown dirt. Quietly she replied, “I’ll be fine.”  

Her eyes returned to the sky at a nudge from Jon. When she remembered this moment years down the road, it would seem to happen all at once. The blue gave way to purple, to pink, and finally to vibrant yellow across the treetops. Sereda’s jaw dropped as the yellow spread, soaking the clouds above them with extravagant splendor, deep as the golden lava rushing throughout Orzammar. Without a thought, she took Jon’s hand and held tight, her eyes wider than saucers and filled with tears from some mixture of awe and fear. He grinned down at her and squeezed back, watching with her until the whole orb was revealed.

“Don’t stare right into it too long,” Jon warned with a grin. “You’ll go blind.” He left her there as the others in the camp began to stir.

Sereda wiped the tears rolling down her cheeks and continued to watch the sun’s arc, blinking back the strange spots in her eyes. If she had been impressed by the night sky, it was nothing compared to the sight of the sun. Descriptions of it in the books of the Shaperate could never have prepared her for its brilliant rise over the trees or how it would feel when the rays brushed her face for the first time. It tickled almost to have this sun caress her skin, but she didn’t hate it nearly as much as the Shaper had told her she would. He had said it was burning and angry, but it reminded her of the annual trips to the forge, standing over the vats and relaxing in the warm currents swirling from them.

Duncan called her name, finally breaking her from her trance. As she made her careful way back to the cave, she wondered about Gorim. _Has he watched the sun yet? Did he cry too?_

Duncan was rolling his tent into a pack, the other Wardens doing the same. Sereda blushed when she realized they had all been working as she had watched the sun like a fool. None of them seemed to resent it, though she was sure the youngest Warden was giggling at her red nose and eyes. 

“How are you this morning, Sereda?” Duncan asked with a smile. Though her heart dropped at the commander's informal address, Sereda gave him a polite nod. 

“Better than before, certainly. Though my arm still hurts,” she said, raising her left arm as best she could with the constrictive bandage. Duncan motioned to another Warden, an older man with a scarred face and a large staff at his back.

The man bowed respectfully to Duncan before turning to Sereda. “The name’s Ryland, my lady, and I specialize in the healing arts. I can heal your arm much faster than the Maker’s good sweet time, but I wanted to get your permission first.” He bowed again and smiled, revealing more gaps between his teeth than Sereda was entirely comfortable with. His dark eyes were widened beneath wiggling brows and the air around him seemed to crackle with energy. She had met a few mages in her time, and she wasn’t afraid of them, but Ryland did little to put her at ease. 

“I thank you for the offer, Ryland, but-”

“I understand your hesitance, Sereda,” Duncan interjected, standing to cradle her arm, “but once we reach Ostagar, we will be fighting the darkspawn. It’s imperative that we are all at our best.”

Sereda nodded, though she crinkled her nose in distaste. Her arm wouldn’t heal correctly on its own; she wasn’t so foolish as to think so. But she had never been healed by a mage, and she didn’t really fancy it now. The dwarven resistance to magic did not guarantee safety from its bearers, and who knew what would happen when the spell involved knitting her bones together.

She looked back to the sky and sighed. This wasn’t Orzammar; she would be surrounded by new and terrible things for the rest of her life. The sunrise had been a pleasant surprise, perhaps this would be too. She turned to Ryland and nodded her approval, allowing him to gently unravel her bandages.

“Now, I’ll be honest, my lady. I’ve never had the pleasure to heal one of your kind, but I know I’ll have to give it that extra ‘oomph’ to get the job done right.” Sereda grimaced as she resisted the urge to yank her arm back. Duncan laid his hand on her shoulder, smiling down encouragingly. She noted that she wasn’t able to move her arm away now.

She had expected a warning before he started, but Ryland’s hand grew warm on her skin in an instant. She gasped as a green glow emanated from his fingertips, pressing into her skin, tingly and tickling deep within her muscles and down to the bone. It didn’t hurt, or at the very least it didn’t make the ache worse but it felt entirely _new._ The pain from the break began to ebb when Ryland shut his eyes; the green light bursting for a moment before resuming its path from his fingers into her arm.

Sereda’s eyes widened with each second, the tickle of the magic changing to a solid thrum as her bones shifted beneath her skin to their proper position. It took a few minutes in all, Ryland stopping at one point to drink from a flask of what she assumed was lyrium at his hip. When Ryland and Duncan unhanded her, she tentatively whirled her arm about.

“I… I- It’s incredible!” She exclaimed, waving her arm back and forth, flexing her hand up and down. Ryland grinned and bowed again.

“I’m always happy to help a sister-in-arms.” He paused to guffaw at his unintentional pun before continuing, “Let me know if you need any further healing.” He went back to his tent, a bounce in his step.  

Duncan produced a pair of boots for her; though a shade too large, they were better than nothing. She clomped away, trying not to trip, with a grin on her face. In fact, she felt more cheerful than she had in what felt like an eon. With her newly healed arm and a song in her heart, Sereda helped to pack up the camp.

She was snuffing the fire when the youngest Warden of the group sidled up, smirking.

“Enjoy the sunrise this morning, my lady?” He had the same Fereldan accent as Jon, but without any of the kind intentions. Sereda looked up at him with a knit brow, taking in the shine of his brown locks and the clearness of his tan skin. Highborn, if she had to guess, but clearly not a firstborn son. No noble in their right mind would send away their heir to join the Wardens.

“Yes I did, my lord,” she replied curtly. “As you well know, there is no sunshine in Orzammar. This is all quite new to me.”

He stifled a laugh by biting his lip, nodding with mock sincerity. “Everything on the surface must be _so_ confusing. It makes you think the dwarves have never heard of books!”

“I assure you, I’ve read many books.”

“Oh, I’m sure!” The Warden drawled, turning from her to pack the cooking supplies. Sereda glared at his back. She opened her mouth to rebuke him, perhaps to recite a tome of Nevarran poetry, or sing an Orlesian tune, but Duncan called out to them.

“Come along, Sereda, Percy! We need to move quickly if we’re to reach Ostagar before the snows set in.” Sereda nodded dutifully. Percy did not. His shoulders slumped and he stomped away, snatching up his bow and other things and flinging them onto his back without a word.

Since she had no bedroll or tent, she carried the pot and its accoutrements, the heavy iron on her back thumping into her rear with each step. Each thunk brought her mood further down until she was scowling at the backs of Jon and Percy, her earlier good mood completely abandoned. By the time they stopped for the night, she was clenching her fists against her legs and gritting her teeth.

Their supper was roasted meat, something called a rabbit that tasted like a sinewy nug. She picked at it, her stomach still not ready for anything substantial.

“It looks like our food is not good enough for her highness,” Percy whispered none-too-quietly to Jon, who shoved him lightly and shook his head. Sereda glared at him and set aside her food.

“Is everything all right, Sereda?” Duncan called from his spot at the fire, skewers laden with two more rabbits in hand.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” she replied, reluctantly picking her food back up, tearing a chunk off with her fingers. Percy sniggered, but let her be.

After supper, she took Duncan’s proffered bedroll in silence and stomped to the edge of their camp, sleeping with her back to the fire. When Ryland shook her for her turn at watch, she woke to numb fingers and toes and derisive remarks from Percy on how she should have known better than to sleep so far from the warmth. Though Ryland gave her a tonic that thawed her from within, she pulled her roll closer to their fire when her watch had ended.

During the days, she focused on the road, despising the mocking feeling of the Stone below them. She could still sense its sturdy lines and paths, but they didn’t correlate to the twisting road they followed in the trees. It boggled her mind that the humans could make everything underneath their vast sky so complicated. It was clear that the fastest way to get from place to place was a straight line, and yet they built everything to curve and twirl around the trees. Go through the trees, she wanted to shout, but she maintained her angry silence.

“It’s the Imperial Highway,” Percy snapped when he heard her muttering about the strange path. They’d been traveling a fortnight and the muddy days and freezing nights were getting to all of them. “It covers all of Thedas. I know it’s not the same as your quaint Deep Roads, but it’s good enough for all of us humans and elves.”

Jon looked between them and away, unwilling to intervene. “I’m aware what road we’re on,” Sereda fired back, eyes fixed on the ground. Duncan glanced back at the raised voices but returned to his conversation with Ryland.

“I just wonder why you view it as inferior to the roads of the dwarves. Seeing as you couldn’t defend yours against the darkspawn while we-” Percy was kept from running his mouth further by an arrow, zooming inches in front of his face.

“Bandits!” Ryland called, dropping his pack and casting a barrier about their small group. Sereda threw off her supplies and reached for her longsword, whipping it from its sheath in one smooth motion.

Their attackers were a small band, only seven of them, but they used the surprise of their attack to great advantage. Their archer loosed another arrow, this one burrowing into Percy’s right shoulder and piercing through. Sereda wanted to cover her ears at the sound of his screech but had to contend with a large man running at her with an axe. She dove to her right, managing to miss the arc of the blade, but getting a kick to the side as she collided with another warrior. The air rushed from her lungs as she hit the ground.

 _May the Stone prop me up,_ she prayed as she scrambled to her feet, lungs screaming for air. She sucked in as much as she could manage and lifted her sword, nearly dropping it as she stretched her arm up. She released it instantly and grabbed her dagger. It would have to do.

She ran at the archer as he readied to finish Percy off. He looked down to place his arrow, eyes on the ground. He didn’t see her coming, and even the tempo of her steel boots on the rocks didn’t draw his notice in the cacophony of fighting. She leapt at him and drove her dagger into the archer’s throat. She grinned at the sound of his strangled cry and yanked her dagger out with a twist of her wrist. The archer fell silent and Sereda moved on.

Duncan was battling the man with the greataxe, while Jon whirled about to fight a woman armed with two daggers and a man with a pike. Ryland cast another barrier as she passed him, and she stopped for a moment to marvel at the glowing aura around her skin. Her wonderment was short lived as the bandits’ mage hurled a fist of stone at her. It shattered against the barrier but knocked her off her feet. Ryland reached down and yanked her up without a glance.

“Watch out for this one, my lady!” He shouted as she ran to help Jon. “It’s about to get mighty frosty!” He whirled his hands above his head, lips moving too fast to read, and struck his staff to the sky. Clouds formed out of the thin air, wind howling about them.

 _What sorcery is this?_ Sereda couldn’t move in the storm, her arms and legs frozen, though she didn't feel the cold. It seemed a small mercy that the bandits struggled as well; Sereda thought they looked like the Hall of Paragons, their weapons frozen in the air and their bodies still as stone.

Duncan broke free of the ice and rain and slit the throat of the warrior in front of him, trudging through the storm to Sereda’s side.

“Warn us next time, Ryland,” he yelled to the mage, yanking Sereda free of the icicle forming about her body.

The mage winked and grinned his gapped grin, “It’s about to get a whole lot worse!” He waved his hands again and when his staff went up, fire exploded around them, melting the ice in an instant and replacing it with blistering, steaming heat. Sereda shouted as the fire licked her skin but did not burn her. Duncan laughed and dove back into the melee, slicing a path through the bandits. Sereda did her best to continue on, but fear struck at her heart. _This is what mages do?_ She thanked the Ancestors that dwarves did not have such people among them.

The bandits were no match for four Wardens and a dwarven commander, even with greater numbers. They fell in short order, some frozen and some burnt, and soon the forest was silent again. Ryland went to Percy’s side, easing the arrow out and murmuring softly as his hands glowed their strange green. With Percy sedated, his face pale and mouth a grim line, the mage came to Sereda’s side.

“You alright? Didn’t think about how’s you’d have never seen anything of that sort, should’ve warned you.” He checked her for injuries, passing a healing touch over a slice to her calf. When he’d finished his nannying he took a long drink from his flask before handing it to her.

“Care for a nip?” She shrank back and protested.

“I can’t have lyrium! If it doesn’t kill me outright, it’ll drive me crazy!” _Commanding ice and fire and now he means to force me to drink lyrium!_ “Just because dwarves mine lyrium, does not mean we drink it-”

Ryland bent at the hip, laughing raucously. “This ain’t no lyrium! It’s whiskey!” He dumped some on the ground with another wave of laughter, amber liquid splashing the dirt into mud. When she only flushed with a glare, he wandered away with a shrug to check on the others. She watched him go with a shake of her head.

Duncan and Jon were looting the bodies, taking a handful swords and the archer’s quiver of arrows. Jon tossed a pair of boots Sereda’s way; they were of fine leather make and they looked to fit her much better than the clunking pair she’d been wearing. It felt wrong to take them, the blood of their owner still rolling into the dirt, but she remembered the Deep Roads and the scars that were forming on her feet.

“Thanks be to the Ancestors,” she breathed as she slipped them on, leaving the metal boots in the middle of the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This chapter was another beast that ended up being tamed into three separate chapters (funny how that happens). Thanks for sticking with it!
> 
> Comments and kudos are cherished dearly, I assure you!


	8. Chapter 8

They were back to their travels in short order. Duncan was remarkably cheery as he led their band, lecturing enthusiastically on the village they were to reach by night’s end. “We’ll all have warm beds for a change, ale to drink, and bread! And we’ll get horses to take us the rest of the way to Ostagar; it’s only a few hours from there.”

All of the Wardens were excited by this prospect, but Sereda’s stomach dropped. As much as she disliked the bizarre dirt trail they walked, the thought of a village was daunting. _What would the humans think of her? Would she stick out among them, or would they even care?_ She knew many dwarves on the surface were merchants, either by caste or by nature of exile, but where did they live? Would she meet any in this village? The Shaper was notoriously tight-lipped about those “sun-touched” dwarves. She swallowed a rise of nerves. _Sun-touched like me._   

She kept the worries to herself and followed the Wardens with a knotted stomach.

The village was much smaller than she’d expected, especially given how Duncan spoke of it. A few farms surrounded a small market, but the only building of any substance was their chantry. Sereda’s eyes followed the high lines of the church as they reached to the sky. It was a pretty picture if she was being honest, and the warm glow of the lanterns in front of the carved doors was inviting.

The Wardens went up the steps, entering in one by one. Duncan turned and looked down at her when it was clear she wasn’t following. “Would you like to come in with us? You need not pray or receive a blessing, but it’s warmer than out here.” Indeed, a chill ran with the breeze and she shivered.

Still, she shook her head. She wasn’t ready to run to Andraste’s bosom just yet. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder back to the market. “I’ll just head to the inn if it’s all the same to you.” Duncan nodded with an understanding smile and slipped through the grand wooden doors.

Sereda wandered for a bit, eyes glued on the sky. It was _dusk_ , as Ryland had taught her, but the moon was already visible. It was a semi-circle now, high above her even as the sun still set in the west. The Shaper had told her they were mutually exclusive and yet they shared the sky now. _Why did I bother learning these things at all if they were all wrong?_

She entered the inn, a thrill of pleasure at the warmth of the fire greeting her face instantly. It was packed with people, every table full of singing and cheering patrons. Sereda shuffled around them, the large men and women looming over her. A few pointed her out, but she realized dwarves must be a normal enough appearance from the general apathy towards her. She went to the bar, calling to the barmaid for a mug of ale and a loaf of bread.

She found an unoccupied spot by the fire, holding her hands over the flames with glee. _There doesn’t seem to be any dwarves locked up here_ , she thought, glancing around. There were a few elves, but they all seemed to be servants; all of the patrons were humans. No dwarves.

An elf brought her ale and bread, standing above her in silence. Sereda took the food with a word of thanks, bringing the bread up to her mouth until a large cough sounded.

The elf, one hand outstretched towards her, tapped her foot and scowled. “That’ll be two silver, miss.”

Sereda set the bread on her lap, cheeks aflame. _Two silver?_ She hadn’t thought about coin… really ever. She didn’t exactly need to pay for what she wanted in Orzammar, and the rare times she did, Gorim handled it. She grinned and grimaced at the elf.

“I myself don’t have the coin, but I am with the Grey Warden Duncan and his fellows. They’re in the Chantry right now, but when they return—”

“You expect me to believe _you_ are a Grey Warden?” The woman scoffed, snatching back the ale and bread from Sereda’s hands. Her stomach rumbled at their exit.

Sereda stood, a flicker of irritation turning to a flame when she realized she was shorter than the elf. She looked up into the barmaids large, green eyes with her own narrowed. “I am not yet a Grey Warden, but I will be soon. We are traveling together to meet with the king’s troops in Ostagar.”

“Look, just because I work at a tavern, doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. If you’re with the Grey Wardens, I’m the Empress of Orlais! You don’t have the coin, you don’t eat!” She stomped away, by now attracting the attention of the other patrons.

Sereda shouted at her back, enraged. “Are you calling me a thief? Do you believe I would _steal_ beer and bread? I assure you, I travel with Warden-Commander, he’ll tell you himself!”

“I know your _type_ ,” she spat as she whirled around, slamming the food down on a nearby table. “You may not have the tattoos on your face, but I know a sneaking, Carta thug when I see one!”

Sereda’s heart sank like a stone and a sheet of red passed over her vision. That anyone would associate her with the Carta was unthinkable; she would rather die than join those thieves and murderers. She opened her mouth to say so, her hand unconsciously going to her dagger, when a large man stood up next to the elf. He was tallest human Sereda had ever seen and the axe at his hip gleamed menacingly in the firelight. He laid a heavy hand on the elf’s shoulder.

“She givin’ you trouble, Aubree?”

“She was just leaving,” Aubree sneered, pointing at the door. Sereda looked between them and dropped her hands. Duncan would hardly approve of her starting a tavern brawl, and she had doubts on whether she could beat the giant human in front of her. She slinked away, her face burning with shame as the humans shouted at her.

She sat outside the inn, unsure where to go. The village was in bed for the evening, with only the Chantry still lit up. She wasn’t going to turn to the Maker over some embarrassment, so she stayed put, picking at the grass.

It had been an interesting two weeks so far. A lot of firsts for her, some of which she even enjoyed. The sun was a friendly companion; it reminded her of home in a strange way. And while humans didn’t seem to know how to build in a straight line, the paths they followed had pretty sights, trees, and rocks, and something Jon had called _birds_. She didn’t like rabbit, but she had liked fish. She still wasn’t overly fond of magic, but she was at least getting used to Ryland himself.

 _You didn’t have the coin_ , she chided herself as her thoughts turned venomous towards Aubree and the large man. _You expect people to just give you things for free?_ It was how it was in Orzammar. She didn’t _expect_ preferential treatment, but she had known no other kind. Back home she was lauded and celebrated. She would have never paid for ale! Here on the surface, she was just another body. A dwarf with no name or gold. It would take more getting used to than the sky did.

It had been easier on the road to forget that she was on the surface. Even though everything around her was different and new, it had been just her and the Wardens. It seemed she could no longer pretend this was all a fantasy.

The Wardens finally walked up, and Sereda shouted in her head. _Couldn't they have come a few minutes sooner?_ She stood, dusting the blades of grass off her lap and inclining her head. Duncan regarded her with curiosity, stopping before her while Jon and Ryland flowed past them.

“Why are you sitting out here, my lady? I’m sure you’d be welcomed at the hearth.”

 _I did too!_ “I went inside for a time, but…” Sereda hesitated when she caught sight of Percy, striding up with a smirk already imprinted.

“But?”

“When I didn’t have the coin, they threw me out,” she whispered, her cheeks going red again. Duncan’s raised brows fell into a scowl and he stomped past her into the inn, intent on correcting the innkeeper. Despite her attempt to keep him from hearing, Percy broke into a roaring laugh, head thrown back with the force of it.

* * *

They left the inn at daybreak the next morning, stepping over sleeping patrons at their tables and serving girls scrubbing mysterious stains off the floor. For Sereda, it had been an uneventful evening. After she had her fill of food and drink, which was not a lot when Aubree’s green eyes were scowling at her, she had excused herself to her room. She fell asleep the moment her head hit her pillow; she didn’t even take off her boots.

Jon led them to a farm on the outskirts of the village where a few horses grazed. Sereda was surprised to see how large they were, even from a distance. She knit her brows as she observed them. _I do_ not _want to ride one of those_.

“The innkeeper said these were the best horses to find for miles around,” Jon said as they approached the farmhouse door. “He said there’d be enough for all of us if we’d the coin.”

He rapped on the door and stood back, allowing Duncan to move to the front. All of the Wardens straightened up, faces falling into identical masks of stone. Sereda arranged her features too, aiming for noble solemnity.

The door opened a crack, a bright green eye peering out at them. “Whatchyou want,” the voice below the eye demanded.

Duncan bowed respectfully before he answered. “I am Duncan, Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. My men and I are traveling to Ostagar to meet with King Cailan in order to defeat a growing darkspawn threat. We require horses for the journey, and Innkeeper Kris told us you had the best around.”

“No horses for sale,” the eye grunted, the door beginning to shut. Duncan slapped a hand to the wood, keeping it open and startling the eye. It disappeared for a moment, but returned with its twin, regarding them all with suspicion. They were set in the wrinkled face of a short man, short enough that Sereda thought he was a dwarf for a moment.

“We have plenty of gold,” Duncan said, jingling his purse of coin. “You will be more than fairly compensated.”

Sereda looked at the field, breaking the imperious mask. She could see at least a dozen horses altogether, some milling about the stables and a few more in the fields. It seemed to her he had enough, but she knew little of the creatures.

“No horses—”

“If you won’t sell them to us, we’ll simply take them. Our mission is too important to be hindered by small-mindedness.”

“Duncan!” Sereda lunged forward, though Ryland yanked her back. The commander whipped his head back and glowered down at her.

He chided, “Do not interfere, Sereda.”

“He has the right to say no! Is this what Wardens are? Thieves?” She looked to her future brothers, all of them avoiding her eyes.

Duncan shook his head and looked back to the eyes. “We are not thieves, but we do what we must. You can have the gold and the knowledge you have helped against the Blight, or you can have neither. But we will leave here with horses. The choice is yours.”

The eyes shut, wrinkled lids encasing them. They snapped back open after a moment, going straight to Duncan’s face.

“Two.” Sereda stepped back, a lump in her throat. _So the Wardens bully people into obedience._ Dwarves threw feasts to honor the Grey Wardens and their valor. Did her father know of their methods?

“Four. I can promise you gold enough to cover the cost,” Duncan reasoned.

“Two.” The eyes insisted, before rolling onto Sereda’s face. “And a pony,” he added viciously.

Duncan crossed his arms. “The dwarf doesn’t know how to ride; she’ll need to be with someone. Three and that is the lowest I will go.”

The eyes considered it before bobbing in a cautious nod. “Three, and I’ll pick them out for you.” A wrinkled hand emerged from the doorway and Duncan grasped it, the deal sealed.

She hated the horse. From the moment Jon heaved her up to sit on it, her legs straining to straddle the massive beast, she seethed with rage. It was entirely too big, this "Merryweather" as the horsemaster had called it. Even having her arms wrapped around Duncan’s torso did little to lift her mood.

“Are you ready, Sereda? I’m going to put her to a slow trot, so you can get used to the feel,” Duncan looked over his shoulder at her, waiting for a nod that wouldn’t come. He pressed his feet back gently into the horse and it began to move. Sereda screamed as she jerked forward, squeezing Duncan as tightly as she could. Percy predictably cracked up atop his own horse; he only had to share with their supplies.

Duncan chastised him, “That’s enough, Percy! Don’t forget how you flailed about in Lake Calenhad!” The laughter died instantly.

Sereda shut her eyes and focused on her breathing, her stomach roiling. When Duncan was satisfied she wouldn’t fall off, they departed, bouncing down the road. Sereda’s head whipping into Duncan’s solid back with each beat.

“Move with the horse,” Duncan said after a time, amusement evident in his tone. “When the horse goes up, so should you.”

She did her best but soon snapped back. “Forgive me, but it’s not exactly the sort of riding I’m used to.” Duncan laughed loudly, his free hand clasping hers on his stomach. She grinned and tried as well she could to relax into the rhythm.

It was at least an hour before Sereda was sure she wouldn’t vomit, and nearly an hour after that before she opened her eyes. They passed the time in companionable silence, Duncan only breaking it to call out to the others. Sereda watched the trees, marveling how each looked so identical to its neighbors.        

There was an apparent change in the monotonous woods after some time, and Duncan helped her dismount. He sent the others ahead with the horses and a few terse instructions. A shout from down the path startled Sereda, but Duncan seemed to expect it.

“Ho there, Duncan!” A man in gold-plated armor approached, an easy grin on his lips. Something in his expression prickled her memory, and suddenly Sereda’s cheeks burned. She knew exactly who this was.

“A royal welcome! I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun.”

“Not if I could help it, your Majesty.” Duncan bowed his head to the king, and Sereda did the same. _Will he recognize me_ , she wondered. They had only exchanged a few words all those years ago, to be sure, no matter how much she had… thought about him after. Her childhood crush on Cailan had been a source of personal embarrassment, and only Bhelen had known. He had teased her about it mercilessly for a few weeks when she had confessed but neither had brought it up in years. She had kept it locked firmly away with the other frivolities of her childhood, but to see him here, in front of her. And a _man_ now—

“Then I’ll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious! The other Wardens told me you’ve found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?” The king turned his eyes to her, twinkling merrily in the midday sun. He was more handsome than she remembered; in Orzammar, he had been gangly and awkward.

Sereda’s blush deepened and she nodded. She fingered the dagger on her belt to keep her hands busy and away from her burning cheeks.

“Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty—”

“No need to be so formal, Duncan! We’ll be shedding blood together, after all. Hello there, friend! Might I know your name?” He looked down at her and Sereda nearly forgot it.

She remembered herself when she realized she had paused too long, and she curtsied for the first time in her life, awkwardly holding out the pleated armor skirt she wore. “I am Sereda, your Majesty.”

The name didn’t seem to ring any bells because the king only inclined his head. “Pleased to meet you! The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I, for one, am glad to help them. It’s good to see one of the honorable stout folk outside of Orzammar.”

 _Did he remember_? Surely he remembered the trip, he had been nearly fifteen, but would he remember her? She realized it was foolish to wonder. She should just ask… But she wasn’t an Aeducan anymore. What would she tell him? “I was accused of killing my brother and exiled.” That would stop the conversation quickly.

Still, her curiosity got the better of her. “How much do you know about the dwarves, your Majesty?”

“I’ve always wanted to learn more. Perhaps you could enlighten me?” The flirtatious nature of his words was evident, and Duncan raised his eyebrows to pair with a begrudging smile.

Surely the king wouldn’t make good on his words, but what was the harm? Sereda smiled up at the king in what she hoped was a demure smile. Years of practice flirting with nobles and warriors was the only thing keeping her from blabbering like an idiot.

“If your Majesty wishes,” she said shyly, and Cailan’s grin turned into a cocky smirk. He leaned down closer and Sereda’s heart skipped a beat.

“I do wish. I’ll make sure to have the finest dwarven brew brought up from the palace cellars…” He straightened up and continued with a louder voice, “After we’ve dealt with the Blight, of course!”

Duncan and Sereda nodded, and she was glad for the added space. She wasn’t one to have crushes, but the small torch she’d carried for King Cailan was flaring too much for her comfort.

The group began to make their way through the woods to the foot of a bridge, and the king chattered amicably. Soon, his attention turned back to Sereda. “You know, I’ve been to Orzammar, actually. King Endrin invited my father to a Grand Proving, long ago. How does Endrin fare these days?”

Sereda’s heart skipped for an entirely different reason. She hadn’t expected…she didn’t think people would ask her of Orzammar much. None of the Wardens had. Would many inquire after the king and his family? It was harder to come up with a lie when the truth was so painful.

She managed a shrug and spoke to the ground, “I hear the king was well enough when I left.”

“Good! I hope to work with him as well as my father did.” Sereda shut her eyes briefly and took a calming breath. This human lord would be able to see her father, to walk the halls of her family home, to watch warriors battle in the Proving. She couldn’t have any of those things, yet she had been born to the Stone.

 _You aren’t an Aeducan anymore_ , she reminded herself. She forced a smile for the king and stopped short behind him when he threw open his arms.

“Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar. The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks.”

“You are too kind, your Majesty.” Sereda inclined her head and the grin on her lips was less forced.

King Cailan sighed and nodded to Duncan. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies.”

Duncan stopped him before he could get far, speaking swiftly, “Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week.”

Cailan waved him off with a laugh. “Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We’ve won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different.”

Sereda glanced at Duncan, whose jaw tightened when the king wasn’t looking. Clearly, they disagreed on that point.

“You sound very confident of that,” she piped up. Cailan beamed at her and shrugged.

“Overconfident, some might say. Right, Duncan?” He chuckled and Duncan returned a tight smile.

“Your Majesty, I’m not certain the Blight can be ended quite as… quickly as you might wish,” he said cautiously.  

With a waggle of his finger, Cailan said, “You know, I’m not even sure this is a true Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn in the field, but alas, we’ve seen no sign of an Archdemon.”

Duncan shook his head as he asked, “Disappointed, your Majesty?”

“I had hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god!” Cailan shook his hands for effect, before letting them go limp at his sides. He shrugged. “But I suppose this will have to do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens! And, Sereda,” he lowered his voice and leaned in again. “I’d love to hear more about Orzammar, truly. Come to my tent later, if you like.” She smiled up at him, and she was sure he winked. Bowing, Cailan took his leave.

Duncan watched the king disappear before he shook his head. “What the king said was technically true. They _have_ won several battles against the darkspawn here.”

Sereda still looked down the path to where Cailan’s figure had been swallowed by the greenery. “Yet, you don’t sound reassured.”

“I know there’s an Archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely based on my feeling.”

“Why not? _He_ seems to regard the Grey Wardens highly.” Between the horsemaster and Aubree, she was learning more and more that the opinion of the dwarves in regards to the Wardens was not shared by all of Ferelden. Save their king, apparently.

“Not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais, as was my recommendation. He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable. Our numbers here are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference.” Duncan sighed, pulling Sereda’s eyes from the forest. “To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay.”

“What do you mean? What ritual?” It was the first she’d heard anything of the sort.

“Every recruit must go through a ritual we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden. It is brief, but some preparation is required.”

The dream of a hot meal and a bath melted away. Resigned, Sereda asked, “What do you need me to do?”

“I have business I must attend to, but you may find me at the Grey Warden tents, should you need to. Find Warden Alistair, he should be milling about the somewhere, and bring him to me. He’ll be accompanying you in your preparations. I’ll tell you more when we’re all gathered together.”

Sereda bowed her head and Duncan did the same before striding across the great bridge that connected the forest to the ruins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya folks! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was one of my favorites to write! And arriving at Ostagar means that you-know-who will be showing up very soon!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, as well as your bookmarking and subscriptions! Thanks for the support!


	9. Chapter 9

The stone felt good beneath her feet. It wasn’t dwarven made, that she knew, but it still felt surer than the dirt her boots had been sinking into for weeks. Stone was _true._ She would have kissed it, had she been back home; it was a blessing from the Ancestors to have good stone underneath you after too long without. But human bridges weren’t worthy of the affection, so she followed Duncan quickly, eyes straight ahead.

The bridge was high in the air, and again she was afraid she would lose her way and fall into the sky. _Why do humans build things like this?_ It made no sense to her. Underneath their feet were thousands of perfectly good tunnels they could use. Sure there was darkspawn, but the dwarves had been killing them for centuries. Instead, everything on the surface was so… lofty. _What are they trying to reach?_

She entered the camp, familiar smells and sounds reaching her acutely. Roasting meat and clanging swords, shouting and laughter, it reminded her of the excursions she had lead into the Deep Roads. Rather than sadden her, the comradery brought a smile to her lips, and she had a bounce in her step for the first time in days as she went to find the young Warden.

Duncan had told her about Alistair during their travels. He had called him, “a dedicated young man,” and “one of the greatest natural talents he’d ever seen”. She walked the perimeter of the camp, losing her bounce as this great and talented Alistair eluded her until a young elf pointed up a ramp at two men. She thanked the girl, and nearly jogged towards them, the sounds of argument wafting on the wind towards her.

“What is it now?” One of the men, clad in colorful robes, sneered at the other. “Haven’t the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?”

The other man, around her age and in armor, held up his hands defensively. “I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage. She desires your presence.”

The robed man scoffed, “What the revered mother ‘desires’ is no concern to me! I am busy helping the Wardens—by the king’s orders, I might add!”

“Should I have asked her to write a note?” The armored man drawled, and the robed man clenched his fists. His face turned red in rage.

“Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!”

With a roll of his eyes, the armored man retorted, “Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message.”

“Your glibness does you no credit,” the robed man spat.

“Aww, here I thought we were getting along so well. I was going to name one of my children after you… the grumpy one!”

“Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must!” He began to stalk away, nearly running into Sereda as he did. “Get out of my way, fool!”

She turned and watched him stomp off. Duncan had told her Alistair was disciplined and committed. But off went the serious man, leaving only…

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.” She whirled back around, surprised to see the armored man smiling.

Jokes about the Blight? Not what she had expected of Alistair. She raised an eyebrow and said incredulously, “You are a very strange human.”

Alistair laughed, and he wagged a finger at her, quipping, “You’re _not_ the first to tell me that.” He looked her up and down, his eyes scrutinizing her.

“Wait, we haven’t met, have we? I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?”

Sereda rolled her eyes and retorted, “How can a dwarf be a mage?”

Alistair shrugged. With his fingers wiggling at her, he replied spookily, “You never know! These mages sneak up on you!” Sereda stared at him blankly and he stopped the theatrics.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, “The argument I saw… what was it about?”

“With him? Oh, the Circle is here at the king’s request and the Chantry doesn’t like that one bit. They just love letting mages know how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position. I was once a templar.” He leaned in knowingly as he said it.

“You were a mage-hunter?” The lyrium trade meant that Sereda was well-versed in the politics of the Chantry and their Circles, but Sereda was still surprised to see that one of their templars seemed so… normal. She had always pictured them as blank vessels of their blue lyrium.

Alistair bristled. “Not that that’s all the templars do, but yes. The Chantry raised me until Duncan recruited me six months ago. I’m sure the revered mother meant it as an insult—sending me as her messenger—and the mage picked right up on that.”

He sighed and shook his head, speaking to the ground, “I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we’re all to cooperate and get along. Apparently, _they_ didn’t get the same speech.”

She nodded and felt the stirrings of sympathy. It reminded her of running off to deliver messages from Father to Trian, only to be shouted at for being the bearer of bad news. She was doing her best to frame her sympathy in a way that didn’t mention her brother, when Alistair tilted his head to the side, appraising her.

“Wait, I do know who you are. You’re Duncan’s new recruit, from Orzammar. I should have recognized you right away. I apologize.” He bowed his head and smiled congenially. The grin tugged something in her brain, but she couldn’t put words to it.

“And you must be Alistair.”

Alistair’s eyes lit up and he put a hand to his chest. He jested, “Did Duncan mention me? Nothing bad I hope.” He grinned when Sereda shook her head, a smile of her own being suppressed from her lips. “As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining.”

Well if this was definitely Alistair, Sereda knew she should be polite. She introduced herself. “Pleased to meet you, then. My name is Sereda.”

Alistair snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Right, that was the name! Hmm, there haven’t been any dwarven Grey Wardens in some time.” Sereda expected some drivel about how dwarves couldn’t be fierce warriors, or the like, and was prepared to argue, when Alistair continued in the same breath, “You must know a lot about darkspawn.”

Taken aback, she conceded, “We’ve been fighting them for centuries.”

He nodded at her, respect evident in his eyes. “Hard to believe most folks here think the darkspawn disappeared after the last Blight when your people suffer every day,” he added, his voice soft.

Before she could say anything else, his face brightened into another smile, and he motioned toward the walkway. “Anyhow, whenever you’re ready, let’s head back to Duncan. I imagine he’s eager to get things started.”

She nodded and began to walk back towards the camp. The silence grew awkward between them, leading to Alistair blurting out, “What’s _your_ story? Duncan’s raven only said you were a recruit, none of the salacious details.”

“I… Uh…” Even with weeks to plan, Sereda had yet to come up with a fable to replace the truth of her exile. Not that it truly mattered if people knew who she was, but she still had some duty to uphold the Aeducan name, even if she didn’t carry it.

“Damn, please forgive me. I should know better than to put you on the spot like that.” Alistair rubbed his forehead and grimaced. “Joining the Wardens is about starting over again. You don’t have to answer, alright? Whatever your past is, it can be your own.”

Sereda was saved from giving her thanks by the shout of a priest near them. “Ah! I suspect you are one of the new Grey Wardens! Will you accept the Maker’s blessing?” The priest was a beaming young woman, surrounded by her faithful. Sereda and Alistair continued walking, though he slowed considerably.

“As you can see,” Sereda called back, “mine are dwarven kin.” The dwarves did not pray to any god, and she did not want to start.

“I can see that. While I cannot pass on the respects of your Ancestors, the Maker looks kindly on all who receive him!” Like most priests, she was undeterred by Sereda’s demurring.

“It means little to me,” Sereda said with as much grace as she could muster. Alistair looked down at her, his eyes crinkling in concern. _Must I convert if I’m forced to live up here?_ She grimaced at the thought.

The priest went stony-faced, her worshippers turning their heads to see what manner of beast denied their Maker. “How unwise, considering the difficult battle to come. May the Maker show you mercy, anyhow.” Sereda managed a pained smile and strode off, Alistair in tow.

“Why didn’t you just take the blessing,” he asked when they had gotten out of sight.

“We don’t share your god. My people give thanks to the Ancestors and the Stone.”

“Surely they wouldn’t mind a dwarf getting the blessing from some priest on the surface.”

 _They mind the very idea of a dwarf on the surface,_ she wanted to say.

“Would you stop to give thanks to all your kin whenever you returned home? Or would you get down on your hands and knees and kiss the stone beneath you for a battle well-fought?”

Alistair blushed. “That is… a very good point. I’m sorry; I guess I haven’t met many people who don’t follow the Chantry teachings.”

“Then you haven’t met enough people,” Sereda muttered, but the tingling feeling of annoyance started to ebb. Alistair certainly was an understanding fellow. “Are all priests like that? Pressuring you into their Chantry?”

“Oh yes, most definitely. It’s their number one recruiting method. I’d bet half the Andrastians in Thedas started off like you, but couldn’t stand the badgering.” Sereda laughed, a sound foreign to her ears after weeks without, and Alistair beamed above her.

He continued, “In fact, they actually hired badgers to teach the priests the ways of their people, to make sure they got it right. It’s all very hush-hush, but since I was nearly a templar, they told me all about it.”

“Is that right? Near-templars are high up on the Chantry list?”

Alistair bobbed his head with enthusiasm. “Certainly! It goes Divine Beatrix at the top, of course, then the revered mothers, then almost-templars right below them, practically even to tell you the truth, and then the rest. So I got all the best gossip.”

Sereda grinned and looked up at Alistair. He certainly was handsome when he smiled. “Any more of the Chantry’s deep, dark secrets you want to share?”

He looked around, making sure they were alone before he leaned down to whisper, “Divine Beatrix is actually just several large badgers in a dress.” Laughter tore through them and Sereda was wiping tears from her eyes as they walked on.

Their path took them past the kennels, the too-dark hair on the top of the kennel master’s head flapping with a slight breeze. Sereda stifled a laugh when she saw it, but it quickly soured as she heard the whine of the beasts in the cages.

“Mabari,” Alistair said, leading her closer. “They’re Fereldan war hounds. A few of these are the Wardens’, but the rest are the king’s.” The mabari that was whining was a huge creature, as tall as Sereda nearly even on all fours, with powerful muscles beneath his sepia fur. It was currently pacing with its whines, snapping at its caretaker when the man tried to get too close.

The kennel master was looking down at the restless dog, tutting to himself. “This isn’t good. I’d hate to waste such a promising member of the breed.”

He noticed their arrival with a grim, tight-lipped smile. “You’re with the Wardens, right? I could use some help.”

“What’s the problem,” Sereda asked, eyeing the mabari cautiously. She wasn’t sure how she could help the creature, seeing as this was the first time she’d even seen one. She moved a bit closer, Alistair sidling up behind her, and she was surprised to see the mabari relax its movements some.

“His owner died in the last battle, and the poor hound swallowed darkspawn blood. I have some medicine that might help, but I need him muzzled first. They’re a smart breed and very strong, as you can see.”

Alistair and Sereda exchanged a look. She wasn’t wild about it, and she was going to suggest Alistair do it, but when he got closer, the mabari snapped angrily. Sereda sighed. “I’ll give it a shot.”

The kennel master’s shoulders relaxed and he gave a sigh of relief. “Just go in the pen and let him smell you. We’ll know right away if he’ll respond.” He scratched beneath his false hair before muttering, “And hopefully we’ll get you out if he doesn’t.”

She took the muzzle and said a quick prayer before she opened the door to the pen. She tiptoed in, stopping in front of the mabari and standing still.

Alistair whispered, “Hold out your hand so he can smell you.”

“Or he can tear it off,” she murmured, extending her hand to it. The mabari came closer, whining still, but softer now. It sniffed her with a cold snout before rubbing its head against her. She smiled at the affection and pet it for a moment.

“Now, let’s get this on so you can get better.” She slid the muzzle on the hound’s head, pleased that it allowed her without incident. She let out the breath she held and pet the mabari’s head again before she slowly left the pen.

“Excellent! He must have recognized a kindred spirit! I can give him his medicine now, thank the Maker. I’d hate to put him down.”

“What if the medicine doesn’t work,” Sereda asked, suddenly concerned. She had just learned that she liked dogs much more than horses.

“Well, I have some Andraste’s Grace, from the Wilds. It’s said the leaves can cure the sickness the darkspawn leave behind, but I’m not too sure. We’ll see,” the kennel master said, entering the pen. “Thanks again for your help, Wardens.”

They left, quiet with thoughts for the sick hound.

“So,” Sereda began as they neared the Grey Warden section of the camp, “what do Wardens do when there’s no Blight?”

“There are fewer card games then you might think,” Alistair said with a wink. “I myself have been traveling for most of the time I’ve been a Warden. We don’t have any of our Fereldan strongholds back, so Duncan and I were on our way to Denerim to ask Cailan for land to build one when reports of the darkspawn started.”

“If you- if _we_ don’t have any keeps here, where will we go when this is over?”

Alistair shrugged. “I imagine we’ll be heading to Orlais. They have the nearest Warden base. Though Duncan did say he was hoping to have Ostagar given to the Wardens as a reward for our help here.”

Sereda looked around the ruined fortress. The walls still stood, but the ceilings were lost to the ravages of time. _If this was a dwarven building_ , Sereda thought superiorly. But it was not a dwarven building, and it would never be.

Alistair noticed her skeptical face. “Wardens take people from all over; there are a lot of builders, craftsmen, farmers, you name it. The Wardens could really restore this to a proper fortress.”

He raised an eyebrow and leaned down conspiratorially, “And we wouldn’t have to live in Orlais.”

She laughed, looking up to her new comrade… her new friend. As they walked, chatting easily about the sights of the camp, Sereda realized it had been many years since she had made a real friend. There was always a wall between her and the people of Orzammar, even Gorim. The only people who didn’t treat her with that same deference were her father and her brothers… Her brother… She shut down that line of thought and forced a grin onto her face so Alistair wouldn’t see the tears welling.

“We should take you to the armory before we see Duncan,” Alistair declared, steering them toward a dour man with the largest mustache Sereda had ever seen.

“Hello, Marcus! Nice weather we’re having!” Alistair called to him, earning only a grunt in reply. Marcus eyed Sereda, taking her in from her toes to the top of her head.

He shuffled away to rummage in a chest at the back of his stand with only a grumble. Alistair leaned down swiftly to whisper. “I haven’t heard an actual word from him the whole time I’ve been with the Wardens, so I’ve taken to trying to trick it out of him. So far I’ve used; weapons, the weather, hammers, Duncan’s midnight stroll with that Chantry sister from Amaranthine, and the kennel master’s obvious false hair. Nothing.” Sereda looked up at him with a shake of her head, but she smiled.

Marcus came back and handed Sereda a few pieces of armor. They were clearly made for a human, but a small one. Alistair helped her into them and Sereda was pleased to see they would do the job well enough.

She bowed exaggeratedly and beamed at the armorer. “Thank you ever so much, Ser Marcus, for your generous help. I will give thanks to you in the upcoming battles.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes and huffed, blowing the mustache from his lips. Alistair looked down at her with an exasperated grin.

“Well, you can add flattery to the list,” Sereda murmured when Marcus had turned his back. Alistair strangled a laugh. He glanced at Sereda’s weapons, slipping the sword from its sheath.

“Marcus,” he called out, “she’ll need some new weapons too.”

“These will work just fine!” Sereda exclaimed, whirling away. Truthfully, she wasn’t too attached to the dagger, but the sword… Her father had given her that sword to protect her in the Deep Roads. Her head spun for a moment remembering the stale air, the bloodied stones, the gnawing in her stomach—

“Are you alright?” Alistair’s face was in front of hers, his hands on her shoulders. She shook her head vigorously and forced a smile.

Brightly, she said, “Yes! Of course. I’m just rather fond of this sword.” Alistair nodded, and they turned to leave. Percy stood behind them, his expressionless face twisting into a sneer.

With a scoff, he said, “Look who it is! The Chantry reject and the former prin—” 

He was cut off by the tip of Sereda’s sword, whipped from its sheath and swung up, kissing the thin skin of his throat. He choked on the words and threw his hands up in surrender.

“I know this blade will do just fine,” she murmured, her grin truly returning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! It's one of my favorites! Lots of fun and fluff before things get dark again.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated and cherished greatly!


	10. Chapter 10

Alistair and Sereda finally headed to Duncan, who stood at a large fire, hands behind his back and gaze dark. Two men stood with him. They both fidgeted, the smaller of the two pulling on his ill-fitting armor. Alistair and Sereda approached the trio with smiles still on their faces. The corners of Duncan’s lips quirked and the storm over his eyes lifted for a moment.

“Ah! You found Alistair, did you? Good. Am I to guess you’re ready to begin preparations? Assuming, of course, that you’re quite finished riling up the mages, Alistair.”

Alistair chuckled and shrugged. “What can I say? The revered mother ambushed me. The way that woman wields guilt they should stick her in the army.”

“She forced you to sass the mage, did she?” Duncan asked, narrowing his eyes. “We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We don’t need to give anyone more ammunition against us.”

“I apologize, Duncan. Won’t happen again.” Sereda had a distinct feeling that wasn’t entirely true.

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, let me introduce the others who will be undergoing the Joining. This is Ser Jory, a knight from Redcliffe.”

Ser Jory bowed, a large man with a small paunch and a bald spot, though Sereda thought he could only be thirty years of age at oldest.

“And this here is Daveth. A… fellow from Denerim.” At his introduction Daveth, the smaller of the two, bowed extravagantly. He grinned at Sereda and winked. He had a hungry look about him, sunken cheeks and darting eyes, but his smile was friendly enough.

“Charmed, m’lady.”

“And this, of course, is the recruit Duncan sent word of,” Alistair motioned to Sereda. She bowed, earning an exchange of looks from Jory and Daveth.

“Pleased to meet you both. I’m Sereda.” _Endrinson of House Aeducan, Princess of Orzammar and Commander of King Endrin’s Army,_ she left off. Besides it being technically untrue as she was an exile, she thought it was a bit wordy for a first meeting.

“Now then,” Duncan clapped his hands, bringing their attention back to him. “We can begin. You four will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit.”

“What do we need darkspawn blood for?” A pit formed in Sereda’s stomach. Horrifying tales of the corruption that the very touch of a darkspawn wrought were sharply pulled to the surface of her mind. Nothing good could come of the blighted creatures.

Duncan dismissed her question. “For the Joining itself. I’ll explain more once you’ve returned. The second task is to retrieve some scrolls. There was once a Grey Warden archive in these woods, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain it. It has recently come to our attention that these scrolls had been left behind, sealed with magic to protect them. Alistair, I want you to find them if you can.”

“Find the archive and three vials of blood. Understood.” Sereda was more than used to taking orders. No point in questioning them further.

Daveth, not so much. “What’s so important about these scrolls?”

“The scrolls contain treaties promising support. Treaties that may prove valuable in the days to come. May the Maker watch over your path. I will see you when you return.”

* * *

“Did you hear that? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!” Ser Jory was spinning wildly with his longsword out, eyes wide in terror. Alistair tied the last knot on the wounded man’s bandage and stood.

“Calm down, Ser Jory! We’ll be fine if we’re careful.” They had been in the Wilds not an hour when they came up a group of the king’s men. All, save one, were dead; the only survivor lay at their feet, barely coherent.

Jory shook his head violently. “These soldiers were careful, and they were still overwhelmed! How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There’s an entire army in these forests!”

Daveth was looking a bit pale as well. Sereda didn’t mention to them she herself had killed at least two score darkspawn in the course of her life. With an actual Grey Warden at her side, they could hold off quite well, she imagined.

Alistair lowered his voice and raised his hands in placation. “There are darkspawn about, but we’re in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde. All Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won’t take us by surprise. _That_ is why I’m here.”

It didn’t calm Jory’s nerves. Daveth clapped him on the back and said weakly, “You see, ser knight? We might die, but we’ll be warned about it first.”  

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

Sereda laid her gloved hand on Jory’s arm and looked up at him. Firmly she told him, “Overcoming these dangers is part of our test.”

He nodded, taking some heart in the words, and they were able to move deeper into the forest. Tension began to pulse off of Jory after they took down a small group of hurlocks, though, and Sereda knew if he didn’t relax they _would_ be overwhelmed.

As she knelt to fill a small vial with the slain creature’s blood, Sereda called over her shoulder, “Tell me, Ser Jory, where are you from?” The men looked at her, startled to hear the start of small talk in the darkspawn-infested woods.

Politeness overruled any qualms Jory had. “I hail from Redcliffe, but Duncan recruited me from Highever. I met my Helena there when I was traveling with Arl Eamon.”

Sereda opened her mouth to ask why they were in Highever but Jory’s voice went suddenly dreamy. “I was smitten instantly. She has the most beautiful eyes, my Helena. For years I found any excuse to return there. Arl Eamon finally gave me leave to serve in Highever, and Helena and I wed a year ago. She was going to come back with me to Redcliffe, until I was recruited.”

“When did Duncan conscript you,” Alistair asked before giving Sereda a secret smile. He helped her up from the forest floor and motioned for the group to move forward.

“Last month, the bann hosted a tournament to honor the Grey Wardens visiting. I won the grand melee. Duncan met with me and convinced me that Ferelden needed my blade.” Jory sighed and turned his face to the sky. “It’s hard to be away from Helena, especially now that she’s heavy with child. But I’ll return to her once the Blight has been defeated. I _will_ return.”

“And you, Daveth? Where did Duncan recruit you?”  

“Well, I grew up in a village ‘bout a day’s trip east of here. You wouldn’t even find it on a map; tiny place. I struck out for Denerim as soon as I could outrun my pa. I was in Denerim for, what… six years now? Never fancied it much, but there're more purses there than anywhere else in Ferelden.”

Sereda recoiled, thankfully out of view of the others at the back of the group. _He freely admits to being a criminal!_ She reminded herself that it didn’t matter to the Grey Wardens whatever your past was, but it would take a lot more getting used to for her. “So you’re a…” She looked for a polite way of asking her question.

“Cutpurse?” Daveth finished with a grin. “Aye, and a pickpocket, thank you very much. Or was, anyhow. Who’d ever guess I’d end up a Warden?”

“How did Duncan find you?”

“Oh, I found him. I cut Duncan’s purse while he was standing in a crowd.” Daveth lunged, slicing an imaginary target. “He grabs my wrist, but I squirm out and bolt. The old bugger can run, but the garrison catches me first. Now, I’m already a wanted man in Denerim, so they are all ready to string me up, right in the town square.” He feigned a noose and stuck his tongue out exaggeratedly.

“What happened then?” Jory asked, color starting to return to his cheeks.

“Duncan stopped them. Invoked the Right of Conscription and everything. I proudly gave the garrison the finger while I was walking away. Don’t know why Duncan would want someone like me. But he says finesse and speed are important. And that I remind him of someone he knew when he was younger. So here I am.”

The talking calmed all of their nerves, including the flutters Sereda had in her gut, but a sharp fist in the air from Alistair brought it all back. Stone ruins stuck out like broken fingers from the surrounding swamp, darkspawn milling about its base.

“I’m certain that’s the archive Duncan mentioned. We need to get those documents.”

“There’s got to be at least a dozen darkspawn!” Jory blanched beneath the blood spattered on his face.

“And each of us can easily kill a handful of darkspawn on our own! Together, it’ll be easy enough!” Sereda clapped Jory on the shoulder, but it did little to hearten him.

“Any suggestions on a plan,” Alistair asked, looking at the two men before settling his eyes on Sereda’s.

“Jory, you have your longbow, yes? You’ll cover Daveth and me as we get close enough to surprise the darkspawn. We’ll take out the emissaries first, and then Alistair, you’ll charge in. Once Alistair charges, Jory, switch to your sword and join him. Any questions?”

The men shook their head in unison and drew their weapons as one. Sereda’s heart lifted momentarily on the buoy of pride. She had expected some argument, simply for argument’s sake, but they were all ready and willing to follow her lead. _I’m not an Aeducan, but I can still command._

Her plan went as well as she had realistically expected, and the four of the emerged from the skirmish with a good deal of blood on their armor and few wounds beneath. Sereda wiped at a cut on her cheek from an errant genlock’s blade, sitting on the ground and catching her breath.

Alistair stood over her, panting and looking towards the ruins. “That was a good plan. Could have used a fewer darkspawn, if there’s to be any criticism, but solid nonetheless.” Sereda laughed and stood. She slid her dagger and sword into their sheaths and helped Daveth to his feet.

They tiptoed into the ruin, though Alistair no longer sensed any blighted beasts about. They separated, each looking in their own corner for the chest of documents. Sereda was kneeling in front of a large wooden cache, smashed to pieces, when a woman’s voice lilted over them.

“Well, well, what have we here?” A tall young woman strolled from the inner ruins, her hips swaying and her eyes scrutinizing the four of them. “Are you vultures, I wonder? Scavengers, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely intruders, come into these darkspawn filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?”

Sereda got to her feet quickly, her hand hovering over her dagger. Anyone who proudly lived amongst the burgeoning Blight was not to be trifled with.

The woman narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms across a nearly bare chest. “What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?”

The men were silent behind Sereda, shrinking into their armor. _Typical_. “Intruder? And just how are these your Wilds?”

The woman laughed, tossing her head back. The sun caught her golden eyes, glinting like new coins. “I know them as only one who owns them could. Can you claim the same?”

When none of them answered, the woman strolled around them to stand behind the broken chest. For the first time, Sereda noticed the staff at the woman’s back, and she curved her fingers on her dagger’s hilt. She certainly didn’t share the human’s pathological mistrust of mages, but she was no fool.

“I have watched your progress for some time. ‘Where do they go,’ I wondered, ‘why are they here?’”

“Don’t answer,” Alistair whispered, though Sereda was sure the woman could hear it. “She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby. And she’s a mage—”

“You there, dwarf!” The woman called out, cutting Alistair off. “You have nothing to fear from any witch. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civilized.” She raised her hands pacifyingly, her eyebrows high above her studious eyes.

It was clear there was no way out but forward. Sereda let go of her dagger and bowed. “You can call me Sereda.” 

“And you may call me Morrigan if you wish.” Morrigan inclined her head and smiled. Jory bristled behind Sereda, uncomfortable with the niceties. “Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is there no longer?” She sang the question, her polite grin turning into a smirk.

Alistair pushed forward, wagging his finger. “You stole them, didn’t you? You’re… some kind of… sneaky… witch-thief!” Sereda pulled him back by his gauntlet, urging him with her eyes to calm down.

Morrigan chuckled. “How very eloquent. And how does one steal from dead men?”

“Quite easily, it seems! Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them,” Alistair’s tone had been tempered, but he still glared at the mage.

“I will not,” Morrigan insisted, “for ‘twas not I who _removed_ them. And invoke a name that means nothing here all you wish. I am not threatened.”          

Sereda’s hand flew to Alistair pulling him back preemptively. The last thing they needed was another fight. “If it was not you, then who removed them,” Sereda asked politely.

“My mother, in fact.”

_What would her mother want with them? Ransom? Or just hope for a reward?_ “Can you take us to her?”

“Now there is a sensible request! I knew I would like you! Follow me, then, if it pleases you.”

“I’d be careful,” Alistair whispered as they filed out from the ruins after Morrigan. “First, it’s ‘I like you…’ then it’s ‘Zap!’ Frog time!” Sereda rolled her eyes.

Morrigan led them through the woods, humming a tune as they went. They did not follow any particular path at first, though Morrigan knew the way well enough. Soon the trees gave way to a modest home leaning up against some ruins. The lone human in sight was an old woman, stirring the contents of a large cauldron with a giant spoon.

Daveth shuddered and turned to whisper to Sereda. “She’ll put us all in that pot, she will. Just you watch.”

“If it’s warmer than this forest, it’d be a nice change of pace,” Jory said from behind Sereda, rubbing his arms with his gloved hands.

“Greetings, Mother!” Morrigan called to the woman, ignoring the worries of the men. “I bring before you four Grey Wardens who-”

“I see them, girl. Mmm. Much as I expected.” She stopped her cauldron ministrations and stood straight up, wiping her hands on her apron. Up close, she looked much older than Sereda had thought originally. Morrigan could hardly be older than twenty, but her mother looked to be nearing one hundred, if a day.

Alistair scoffed. “Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?”

The woman shrugged. “You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide… either way, one’s a fool!” She bent for some ingredients at her feet and tossed them into her cauldron. It bubbled violently, a puff of dark smoke rising from it.

“She’s a witch, I tell you!” Daveth started to back away. “We shouldn’t be talking to her!”

Jory chided him, some of his valor returned. “Quiet, Daveth! If she’s really a witch, do you want to make her mad?”

The woman nodded with a gummy smile for Jory. “There is a smart lad! Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will.”

She pulled the giant spoon from her pot and pointed it at Sereda. “And what of you? Does your dwarven mind give you a different viewpoint? What do you believe?”

Sereda felt a chill when the woman’s gold eyes, same as her daughter’s, alit on her. Surrounded by the wrinkled and tanned flesh, they were out of place. The twin yellow eyes staring into her belied the woman’s elderly appearance.

With a shudder, Sereda spoke cautiously. “I am no fool if that is what you’re asking.”

“If you must protest so quickly, perhaps I need not ask?” That drew a self-satisfied laugh from the woman, who chuckled into her concoction before regarding Sereda again. “So much about you is uncertain… and yet I believe. Do I? Why, it seems I do!” She grinned, and it looked for a moment, Sereda could have sworn the empty gaps in her smile had been filled in…

“ _This_ is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?” Alistair leaned over to whisper, not too quietly.

“Witch of the Wilds, eh?” The woman shrugged, tossing more into her cauldron. “Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it! Oh, how she dances naked under the moon!” She guffawed, slapping a hand to her leg with eyes tightly shut in mirth.

Morrigan’s cheeks went from their cool pale to a bright red. “They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother,” she snapped.

The woman straightened from her giggling in an instant and calmly conceded. “True, they came for their treaties, yes?” She held up a hand when Alistair strode forward with a glare on his face. “Before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these papers.”

Alistair stopped short. “You… oh. You protected them?”

She bristled. “And why not? Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight’s threat is greater than they realize!” She motioned to Morrigan who went into the hut, returning with a bundle of scrolls to dump into Alistair’s arms.

Sereda placed a fist over her heart and bowed. “Thank you for returning them,” she said, a mixture of sincerity and a healthy dose off unease in her voice.

The woman beamed. “Such manners! Always in the last place you look. Like stockings!” The rest were silent, the Wardens beginning to fidget with the need to escape, and Morrigan with her face in her hand.

The younger witch broke the quiet with a clap of her hands. “Time for you to go then!” She shooed the Wardens away until her mother called out.

“Don’t be ridiculous, girl! These are _your_ guests!” Morrigan rolled her eyes pointedly, but ended her haste.

“Very well,” she said through gritted teeth. “I will show you out of the woods.”

She led them away from the hut, Sereda hazarding one last look at the woman. She stood still at the cauldron, stirring away, but she looked different. Perhaps it was only the sun, but Sereda thought she looked years and years younger with each step they took.

Morrigan stomped them back to the ruins and bowed melodramatically. “Now that you have what you came for, feel free to leave the Wilds and never return.”

The men went off towards camp instantaneously, but Sereda lingered, watching Morrigan’s retreating form.

This had shaped up to be one of the odder days she’d ever had, and she held no inkling of how much stranger it was going to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys had fun with this chapter! I sure did! AND with this chapter, we're officially 25% through, probably, maybe. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are obsessed over and loved! Thank you for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

The camp was settling in for the evening when the four finally reached the makeshift gates. Alistair made a beeline for Duncan, sitting at the Grey Warden campfire, and the others followed suit.

“Ah! So you return from the Wilds! Were you successful?”  

“We were,” Sereda said, handing Duncan the vials filled with blood and Alistair giving over the treaties. “Maybe we should tell you about Morrigan and her mother first.”

Alistair told Duncan the tale of the strange witches, Duncan narrowing his eyes as he continued. When Alistair finished, he shrugged with nonchalance, though his brows were knit.

“We have the scrolls, so let us be thankful for that. Perhaps tomorrow we can discuss how she came to possess them. For now, let us focus on the Joining.” Duncan stood and clapped Daveth on the shoulder. “Are you all ready?”

The three of them nodded, though Sereda stopped when she saw Alistair’s wan face. She decided to be braver for everyone’s sake. “We’re ready for the next challenge,” she asserted, smiling.

Duncan was pleased with her display. “Excellent. You will need that courage to face what comes next.”

Daveth looked to Duncan with wide eyes. “Courage?” He squeaked. “How much danger are we in?”

Duncan frowned and folded his hands behind his back. “I will not lie; we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are… Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later.”

Sereda blanched, her cheeks joining the pale faces of Daveth and Jory. “You’re saying this ritual can kill us?” It felt just her luck. _When will it end?_

Alistair chimed in, saving Duncan from the resentful words he was gearing to give them. “As could any darkspawn you might face. Duncan wouldn’t have chosen you if he didn’t think you had a good chance to survive. And that goes for all of you.”

Daveth clapped his hands together and beamed, the mirth not reaching his shifting eyes. “Let’s go then! I’m anxious to see this Joining through.”

Jory cleared his throat and called from behind Sereda. “I agree. Let’s have it done!”

Duncan grinned at them with pride. “Then we will not tarry. Alistair, take them to the old temple. I’ll be along shortly.”

Alistair bowed and strode away from the fire without a word, the three recruits jogging to catch up. They were headed to the very spot Sereda had found Alistair in that morning. _Was it really this morning,_ Sereda thought, _that I was blushing in front of Cailan and bouncing through camp?_ Her days were increasingly full and strange, she reflected.

They reached the ruins in silence. Alistair turned to head back to Duncan, but spun back and forth on his heel, deciding. Finally, he said, “Good luck to you.” He addressed the group, but his eyes were glued on Sereda’s. She gulped down the rise of fear in her throat. He practically jogged away, leaving the three of them to pace alone.

“The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it.” Jory broke the silence. He wrung his hands about in front of him, a desperate tinge to his movements.

Daveth was all nervous energy. He bounced from toe to toe and rolled his shoulders. He chided, “Are you blubbering again?” It was harsher than anything else he’d said in their afternoon’s adventures, but Jory wasn’t offended.

Looking over his shoulder at the camp, Jory lamented, “Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?”

“Maybe it’s tradition! Maybe they’re just trying to annoy you,” Daveth suggested from between his legs; he was bent at the waist in a stretch.

Jory looked to Sereda for support. “You’ve been awfully quiet, my lady.”

She shrugged, pushing the panic out of her voice. “I don’t like this any more than you do—”

“I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way! If they had warned me… it just doesn’t seem fair.”

Daveth straightened up and said reasonably, “Would you have come if they’d told you?” When Jory was silent, he continued, “Maybe that’s why they don’t. The Wardens do what they have to, right?”

The other man took exception. “Including sacrificing us?” He shouted the question and Sereda quickly laid a hand on his arm to calm him.

“I’d sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight,” Daveth claimed, a rare note of superiority in his tone.

“That’s a good point, Daveth,” Sereda agreed, urging Jory to relax. She had no idea what this ritual entailed, but clear heads would certainly prevail.

Daveth, finally snapping out of some of his nerves, spoke softly. “You saw those darkspawn, Ser Jory. Wouldn’t you die to protect your pretty wife from them? Or your new babe?”

Jory stammered for a moment and Daveth continued. “Maybe you’ll die. Maybe we’ll all die! If nobody stops the darkspawn, we'll die for sure!”

Jory finally conceded, his shoulders relaxing with resignation. Sereda released a breath she didn’t know she held. Between Jory’s sullen anger and Daveth’s manic energy, her heart was racing as though she had just finished a Proving. It was mercifully quiet between them until Duncan and Alistair returned, a chalice in the junior Warden’s hands.

“At last, we come to the Joining.” Duncan took the great goblet from Alistair’s hands, holding it with grand solemnity in front of him.

“The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint.”

All the bravery Jory had accrued flew away. “We’re going to drink the blood of those… creatures?” His voice was octaves higher than his normal baritone.

Duncan nodded, clearly ignoring the apprehension growing in the recruits. “As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory.”

Alistair joined with a murmur. “Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon.”

Sereda gulped and looked between her fellow recruits. _And what if we’re not ready_ , she wondered but didn’t dare say aloud.

Duncan held the chalice up. “Since the beginning, the Grey Wardens have been charged with finding those who are strong enough to attempt the Joining and recruiting them into our ranks, for the good of all. Not all who drink the blood will survive and those who do will be forever changed. This is why the Joining is a secret. It is the price we pay.’

“We speak only a few words prior to the ritual, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?”

Alistair stepped forward, eyes closed as if in prayer. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten... and that one day, we shall join you.” He looked up, meeting Sereda’s gaze.

Sereda shivered at the words, glad to be between the two larger recruits. At least she wasn’t alone in this. Duncan thanked Alistair with a nod and moved towards the trio.

“Daveth, step forward.” The cutpurse strode up, anxiety flowing off him in waves. He took the chalice from Duncan’s hands without a word, though, and brought it to his lips.

“Bottom’s up,” he muttered, sipping the concoction. He handed back the cup and looked around with a curious gaze.

 _That’s not so bad_ , Sereda thought, about to smile at his success. Before she could tweak the corners of her lips, Daveth started to stumble back before collapsing to his knees. She and Jory stood back instinctually, though she wanted to go to his side. _Maybe this is normal! He’ll be fine!_

He clutched his head, jerking it to the sky, and Sereda saw his eyes. They had rolled back into his head, their terrible whites shining out in the darkness of the temple ruins. Her heart sank to her feet. Daveth coughed and sputtered and grabbed at his throat.

“Maker’s breath!” Jory cried, backing away from Duncan and Alistair. Sereda went to pull him back, but thought better of it, seeing the wild look on his face. She caught Alistair’s eyes, crinkled in concern.

Daveth finally fell silent, his hands relaxing from his throat to rest on his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Daveth,” Duncan murmured, shaking his head and inhaling deeply. He gathered his thoughts and turned to Jory, who was still looking for an escape route.

Jory stammered, “But… I have a wife! A child! Had I known!” He reached back for his sword, eyes still on Daveth’s still body.

Duncan was firm, “There is no going back.” He advanced with the goblet, even with Jory’s gleaming longsword between them.

“No!” He shouted, his back at the wall of the temple now. “You ask too much! There’s no glory in this!”

Duncan handed Alistair the chalice, his eyes firmly on Jory. Duncan slid his own sword from its sheath slowly, perhaps hoping Jory would change his mind. The knight moved left, then right when Duncan followed. He jabbed his sword forward, a warning. Duncan parried and struck forward; the two blades met with the ringing of steel shrill in the quiet evening air.

Sereda could only watch helplessly as the men fought, Jory’s raw anger fueling his blade and Duncan’s calm hand working his own. Even a champion of Highever was no match for a Grey Warden Commander. It was over before Sereda could process it, Duncan’s sword buried in Jory’s side, the knight sliding to the ground to join Daveth. Duncan whispered in the man’s ear before yanking the blade away; she could see the dark blood coating it from where she stood.

“But the Joining is not yet complete.” Duncan wiped his blade on his sleeve before returning it to his hip and took the chalice back from Alistair’s limp hands. He turned to Sereda, dark eyes narrowed.

“You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good,” he said as he held out the chalice to her.

She took it, seeing little choice. Daveth lay at her feet, his white eyes staring blankly into the sky. Jory was not far away, his blood rolling from his body like lava. Death or death was her choice, and neither quite appealing.

She looked down into the cup, gagging at the sight of the dark blood, swirled with blue and something black. She’d left the Deep Roads for this? She reminded herself that abandoning her exile was a cheat regardless. She was supposed to die underground, fighting darkspawn to her last breath. Standing now on the surface, fresh air in her lungs and dirt beneath her feet, was never in the plan. _Perhaps this is how the Ancestors punish me_ , she thought as she brought the chalice closer.

She shut her eyes and pulled the concoction into her mouth. It tasted metallic but _wrong_. It was not the tang of her own blood when she cut her lips, nor was it the sour note she expected. It was heavy and thick, she coughed on it and for a moment she worried she was headed the way of Daveth.

 _Please, Mother, please let me survive this_ , she prayed as the potion sludged down her throat. Duncan and Alistair backed away, Duncan proclaiming, “From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden.”

When the darkspawn blood hit her stomach, her head cracked in two, the splitting pain searing down her scalp and out. She cried out but it was strangled by the blood. She dropped the chalice as her hands went to her head. Maybe if she held it tight enough, the taint wouldn’t tear her in half.

 _I’m sorry, Father_ , was her last thought before her eyes rolled into her head and she collapsed to the ground.

She saw terrible things. Genlocks and hurlocks and some twisted creature that towered above her, all of them a snarling mass in the Deep Roads. They were vermin, writing and screeching together without a conscious thought. To her left, a hurlock grabbed at her, and he had Daveth’s face, with those same dead white eyes. She wanted to run away, but she was trapped within, looking about wildly for the source of a song she couldn’t quite hear. Her eyes went up to a great dragon, skin rotting and torn from its frame and teeth as big as a longsword.

She met its eyes and she was flying up to it, unable to get purchase on the stone ground. She wanted to scream but her was voice was imprisoned in her throat. The dragon roared at her, the song getting louder as she got closer. She was nearly close enough to touch it, though she shrank back, clawing the air to pull away from it. Up close, she could see its great clouded eyes, yellow beneath a film of blue. The teeth were grey and rotten like its flesh and covered with black blood.

It felt an eternity locked in the gaze of the dragon. It screamed and screamed, its jaws opening wide enough to swallow her whole. Her voice was unbound then and she shrieked, her cry smashing into the demon’s and ringing out above the masses of darkspawn.

Finally, mercifully, everything went black save the faint sound of the song.

"It is finished. Welcome," Duncan and Alistair came into focus as the pain receded. Sereda blinked again and again to clear her vision, and she allowed them to help her up.

"Two more deaths," Alistair lamented. He was speaking to her, but he seemed so far away... "In my Joining only one of us died, but it was... horrible. I'm glad at least one of you made it through." It felt like a punch to the stomach. _At least one?_

Duncan, hands heavy on her shoulders as he peered into her eyes, asked, "How do you feel?"

Was that a serious question? Apparently, both of the men before her had suffered the agony she had just felt, and Duncan wanted to know if she was all right? Of course she wasn't! She was furious, but the memory of what she saw tempered her anger.

"Nothing you said prepared me for that," she snapped, pulling herself from his hands.

The kindness in his voice had been replaced by steel when Duncan responded. "Such is what it takes to be a Grey Warden."

"Did you have dreams? I had terrible dreams after my Joining," Alistair interjected.

 _Is that what dreams are?_ Sereda thanked the Stone she didn't have them before this. She couldn't shake the image of the dragon, screeching out of the darkness. It had felt the dragon was in her mind, screaming at her from within.

She didn't answer.

"Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do. That and many other things can be explained in the months to come." Duncan had begun to walk away, motioning for Alistair to follow with a jerk of his chin.

"Before I forget," the younger Warden said, holding out a necklace to Sereda. "There is one last part to your Joining. We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us... of those who didn't make it this far." She took the pendant, shuddering when she felt it hum in her hand. It was a small vial, filled with dark red blood. She clenched her fist around it.

As if she would need a reminder. She looked over at Jory and Daveth, both still lying in the ruins of the temple. The thought that the Wardens needed a reminder of their horrid ritual baffled her. She would never get their cries out of her mind.

“Take some time," Duncan spoke softly again, facing away from Sereda. "When you are ready, I'd like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king."

“Very well," she relented quietly. Duncan strode away with Alistair in tow, who glanced briefly over his shoulder with a sad smile.

She wanted to vomit, and not just from the splitting headache that pulsed between her ears. For Alistair and Duncan, this was business as usual. Gather up some fresh blood and hope for the best. Sereda sunk to the stone and laid her cheek against it, the coolness soothing her pain some. She wept, her tears soaking the ground beneath her cheek. She cried until her tears ran dry, waiting until her breath stopped shuddering to stand. She had to move on. They were waiting for her. She stood and turned towards the field where she could just make out Duncan’s form, but her heart held back.

Jory and Daveth were good men. They’d fought with honor and died with more. Sereda knew Duncan didn’t see Jory’s refusal to complete the ritual as noble, but to take part in something you abhor would be even more disgraceful in her eyes. And Daveth had gone bravely and proudly to his death without a moment’s hesitation. They deserved so much better than to lie forgotten.

Sereda walked to their bodies, cool now in the evening air. She knelt by a pile of rubble, selecting two handfuls of pebbles. She went to Daveth first. She shut his eyes with her closed fist, unable to look into their piercing whiteness any longer.

“ _Atrast tunsha_. You have made your people proud.” She placed a few rocks on his chest, and then the rest at his head and his feet. She did the same for Jory and sat by him, unable to move.

 _Why me?_ Why would the tainted blood choose to imbue her with strength and kill Daveth? Why did it choose anyone, for that matter? Why did Percy survive this terrible ritual, but Daveth did not? What mysterious combination of history and blood made it so one hopeful would die and another would live? She looked down at the stone, spreading her fingers against it and asked the Ancestors why she was chosen to live. Even though it wasn’t the Stone of her people, it comforted her to feel its solidity.  

She hated that she couldn’t truly say she wished that Daveth had lived and she hadn’t. Of course she didn’t want to die, otherwise, she would have accepted her fate in the Deep Roads and that would be that. But how was it that becoming more like the darkspawn was the only way to fight them?   

 _Enough_ , she chided herself. She could wallow later, she resolved, but she was needed elsewhere. She stood, wiping the dust from her hands and turned, nearly smashing into a person standing behind her. She stumbled back, tripping over Jory’s body, but the man grabbed her arms and pulled her upright. She shrieked, a girly sound that she hated, but calmed her nerves when she saw who held her.

Alistair pulled her against him and moved them away from the still bodies, but quickly released her when she was stable.

 “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I thought you knew I was there.”

“Don’t you think I would have said something if I knew you were there?” Her tone was harsh but she didn’t apologize. _How long has he been here?_ “What do you want?”

Alistair motioned over his shoulder to the field where Duncan stood. “He sent me to get you. I guess he thinks you’ve had enough time. I…” He looked around awkwardly, before taking Sereda’s hand. “I’m so sorry about Jory and Daveth.”

She pulled her hand back slowly, Alistair letting it free. She looked up and met his eyes, rimmed with tears. Before she could say anything, _what do I say to all of this anyway_ , he continued. “I know how terrible this is. Duncan’s pretty far removed from it all. He had his Joining twenty years ago; even if he can remember it, it’s probably just a blip to him. But it was only a few months ago for me.’

“Harma was the one we lost. We didn’t know anything about her really except she was Dalish and a mage. She refused to speak to any of us. Karrick, he was in my Joining too, told us that she’d apparently killed thieves who’d stolen from her family. They conscripted her because of her abilities, but she fought them the whole way. When we got to the ritual, she went first.”

He started to walk towards Duncan. Sereda felt compelled by social convention to follow. She said a final prayer for Jory and Daveth and jogged to catch up to her comrade. He went on with his story. “When she didn’t wake up, Duncan told us it was because she didn’t really want it. He said that the taint can sense it. If you hesitate, it’ll tear you apart.”

With a tilt of his head, he observed her from above. “The fact that you made it means that you really wanted it.”

“I don’t,” she said bitterly, not meaning to speak.

Alistair grinned. “I know. I didn’t really either. But I think that the Maker knows better than we do.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, concentrating on her feet and not the hollow feeling in her chest. “I don’t believe in the Maker.”

“Just because you don’t believe in Him, doesn’t mean He doesn’t believe in you,” he said practically. “That’s what the sisters used to always say.”

Sereda chuckled, but the mirth was short lived. Tears welling again, she started to rant. “Daveth was right; if people knew what joining the Wardens entailed, nobody would want to do it. But what is there to gain by lying? Maybe Jory came willingly, but Daveth was conscripted, and my options were death or the Wardens. Whether I knew what the Joining really was, I would still be standing here! But perhaps I would be less angry.” She clenched the pendant again, the vial digging into her hand through the leather of her gloves.

Alistair nodded. “I understand the angry part. I was… furious for weeks after my Joining. And scared witless. I couldn’t get the sight of Harma clawing at her throat out of my mind. I think I’ve had more nightmares about that than I’ve had about the darkspawn. I never told Duncan that. I’ve never told anyone that, as a matter of fact. So you should feel honored.” He smiled, though his eyes still held a grimace.

“I do,” Sereda looked up at him, a newfound respect growing. She’d had enough of liars recently.

“Harma wasn’t there by choice. She wasn’t looking forward to life as a Warden. But she still took that chalice and knocked it back without a blink. I… I never understood that. When it was my turn, I had nearly dropped the damn thing because my hands were shaking so badly.” Alistair grimaced and looked away, the lanterns of the camp illuminating the blush on his cheeks. “And here this elf, torn from everything she knew and forced into a ritual that could kill her, faced it with more bravery in her little pinkie than I have in my whole body. And she didn’t make it.”

Sereda laid a hand on his arm and the pair stopped, Duncan and the king in plain sight. Alistair pulled a necklace from his armor, a pendant similar to the one Sereda grasped. “I wear this every day to remind me that not having a choice doesn’t make you any less brave. It’s what you do with what you’re given. We’ve been given a chance to defeat a Blight before it can tear apart the whole world. And we had to pay a terrible price for this chance, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it. It… it makes me feel better.”

Sereda nodded, some of the fury abating. Thinking on the injustice of the Joining would get her nowhere. She would have to put it aside for her own sanity if not for her brothers-in-arms. She looked down at the pendant differently; disgust was slowly being replaced by acceptance. She handed it to Alistair and turned.

“Are you… What are you doing?” Sereda, confused, looked up at Alistair over her shoulder.

“Oh, I wanted you to put it on me.” Her cheeks burned. She snatched the pendant back from him and clasped it about her neck. She was so used to Gorim, who always knew what she wanted…

She turned to head to towards the king but slowed when Alistair didn’t follow.

“Are you coming?”

He shook his head and backed away, eyes wide and looking over her head at the king’s men. “Ah, no- no, I have to… Duncan wanted me to, you know, check the tents, and make sure the ballistae are…” He trotted off without another excuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Thanks for the support!


	12. Chapter 12

Sereda marched to the meeting place, the voices of the king and his general Loghain wafting over the faint breeze. The king still wore his golden armor, glinting in the flickering lights around them. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir was his counterpart, silver where the king was gold, dark-haired where the king was fair.

She had heard stories of Loghain’s heroics against the Orlesians, earning himself his teyrnir. She had listened impassively then, instead watching Cailan’s eyes as King Maric had regaled them all with tales of his rebellion and victory against Orlais. It was ancient myth to her, a fairy tale. But here the man himself stood before her, arms crossed and a glare painted on his face.

She arrived just in time for the king and his commander’s argument to reach a head.

“Loghain, my decision is final. I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault,” Cailan declared, a note of exasperation in his voice. He leaned over the battle plans, hands splayed on the large table, their golden gloves glinting in the candlelight.

Loghain turned away from the king, throwing his hands in the air. “You risk too much, Cailan! The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines.”

The king retorted with a shake of his head. “If that’s the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all.”

The general gave an annoyed snort. Sereda looked to Duncan for an explanation, but he only shook his head. “I must repeat my protest to your _fool notion_ that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!”

“It is not a ‘fool notion’! Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past…” Cailan straightened and continued with a steely voice, “And you will remember who is king.”

“How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!”

“Then our current forces will have to suffice, won’t they?” Cailan smirked and finally looked to Duncan and Sereda. “Are your men ready for battle?”

Duncan bowed his head respectfully. “They are, your Majesty.”

“And this is the recruit I met earlier on the road? I understand congratulations are in order!”

Sereda wanted to shake her head, or laugh, or perhaps cry some more. Anything but accept congratulations simply for surviving. _Not now_ , she would have time to scream later.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” She said it with as much deference as she could muster.

“And the others?” Duncan only shook his head. Cailan continued, taking that for a satisfactory answer. “Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honored to join their ranks.”

Loghain scoffed, narrowing his eyes as he caught Sereda’s face. “Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality.”

“Fine!” Cailan snapped. “Speak your strategy. The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines and then...?”

“You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge from cover-”

“To flank the darkspawn, I remember. This is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes? We should send our best to light the beacon. Send Alistair and the new Grey Warden to make sure it’s done.”

It seemed strange to Sereda to hear Alistair’s name direct from the king’s lips, but nobody around the table seemed to question it. She also had a moment of petty annoyance that he couldn’t seem to remember _her_ name, though they had met just earlier. And he had flirted with her! And they had met before! She put it aside for the moment, knowing it was an attempt by her brain to distract her from thoughts of the demon in her mind’s eye.

“You rely on the Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?” Loghain warned, his hand going to Cailan’s shoulder.

The king whirled out of the general’s grasp, eyes narrowing as he shouted. “Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain! Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they’re from!”

They were all silent, staring at one another awkwardly. When the chirping of the crickets grew too much, Duncan cleared his throat and spoke. “Your Majesty, we should consider the possibility of the Archdemon appearing.”

“There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds,” Loghain countered with a sneer.

Cailan agreed, so rare in this exchange that Sereda was taken aback. “I do not have time to plan for an Archdemon. That’s what your men are here for, Duncan.”

Duncan sputtered. “I… yes, your Majesty.”

Loghain and Cailan stared at each other for a moment, Loghain relenting, “This plan will… suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon.”

Cailan smiled and clapped a hand on the general’s shoulder. “Thank you, Loghain. I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!”

Loghain agreed reluctantly and dismissed the Wardens, beginning another lecture to the king. Duncan led them back to the camp, Sereda noting the cold shoulder he was giving her. She thought to the moment on the road, his head thrown back in a laugh and a hand warm on hers. _Which is he truly,_ she wondered. _Is he friend and mentor, or cold-blooded leader?_ The two versions were so at odds with each other.

They found Alistair at the fire, pacing with his hands at his back. He turned, anxiety turning to curiosity on his face. Duncan began to gather his weapons, speaking over his shoulder at the two young Wardens.

“Sereda, you heard the plan. You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit when the time comes.”

“What? I won’t be in the battle?” He was indignant and he lunged towards Duncan to argue further.

The Warden-Commander raised his eyebrows at the young man and intoned. “This is by the king’s personal request.” Alistair’s face relaxed into a pout, but he didn't push it. Duncan continued, “If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain’s men won’t know when to charge.”

“So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?” He drawled, shaking his head.

Sereda laid a hand on Alistair’s arm, commiserating. “Hey, if it’s any consolation, the last time _I_ got sidelined like this, I ended up exiled.” The pout turned into a lopsided grin, and Sereda found herself tentatively smiling back.

Duncan interjected. “We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn… exciting or no.”

“I get it, I get it.” Alistair waggled a finger. “Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line! Darkspawn or no.”

“I don’t know. That could be a great distraction,” Sereda said, winking up at her comrade.

“Me shimmying down the darkspawn line? Sure, we could kill them while they roll around laughing!” They cracked up at the suggestion, receiving a heavy sigh from Duncan.

“We will signal you when the time is right to light the beacon. Alistair will know what to look for.”

“And what if the Archdemon appears?” The drooping flesh and blackened teeth were seared into Sereda’s mind.

“We soil our drawers, that’s what,” said Alistair, leaning down towards her.

Duncan shook his head, replying with a stern voice, “If it does, leave it to the senior Wardens. I want no heroics from either of you.”

“Understood, Duncan.” She was definitely not eager to meet the Archdemon in the flesh. Alistair nodded as well, though less convincing.

“We’ll regroup here after the battle. Now, I must join the others. From here, you two are on your own. Remember, you are both Grey Wardens, I expect you to be worthy of the title.” He began to walk away, but Alistair called him back.

“Duncan… may the Maker watch over you.” Duncan pulled Alistair into a hug and kissed his forehead, reminding Sereda achingly of her father’s final farewell before she went into the Deep Roads. The last affection he would ever show her. She blinked back tears and studied the ground.

“May He watch over us all,” Duncan declared moving from Alistair to Sereda, pulling her face up to meet his eyes.

She would not pass on the Maker’s blessing, but she had her own. “May the Stone catch us if we fall.” Duncan smiled and bent, kissing the top of Sereda’s head before leaving them at the fire’s side.

They were both tense, waiting for the battle to begin. Alistair was abnormally silent, his hands clasped in prayer. Sereda looked at the stone, wishing for Orzammar more than she had in weeks. It was all so familiar, the anticipation of a fight, surrounded by the staccato of swords and armor. The light of the fires, dotting the camps and continuing down to the battlefield, could almost be mistaken for lava, if she squinted just right. She thought of her father’s face, stoic and noble beneath his mighty helm. In another world, he would be proud of her now. She could almost hear the bass of his voice, reminding her that she was carrying on the legacy of the noble Warden Foral Aeducan, and how he brought glory to their house...

“We should go,” Alistair whispered, startling her from her trance. “They blew the horns for formation.”

They checked each other’s armor silently, loosening and tightening where needed. His was a simple set, brown leather and iron, but it was sturdy. She gave him a wan smile when she finished checking his gauntlets. _Gorim would kiss me now_ , was her bittersweet thought. She wondered where he was…

“Your sword, my lady,” Alistair handed her the dwarven blade, helping her strap it to her back. She checked that her dagger was secure and nodded that she was ready.

They went to the bridge that she had crossed that morning. _Or is it a new day yet?_ She longed for sleep suddenly. She could have laid her head down on the stone right then, if not for the sound of the horns. She hazarded a look down, fighting a swoon at their great height. The king’s men and the Wardens mixed together on the field, a ripple going through them as they all readied themselves for battle. She followed their focus to the tree line, eyes widening as she caught sight of the horde.

A horde it was indeed. The mass that emerged from the trees, shrieks and screams carrying even up to the bridge, was ten times larger than she had expected, at least. She shot Alistair a horrified glance, feeling little reassurance from his tight grin.

“We need to get to the tower-” he began, cut off by the shouts of the warriors below them. The armies charged and the young Wardens were frozen, watching. The two masses met in the middle, a horrible cacophony of metal ringing out as blade met armor and shield.

Sereda shook her head, trying to clear the darkspawn from her mind. They had a mission to complete. Duncan would be disappointed if they couldn’t even do this simple task.

She jogged off, crossing the bridge behind the rows of archers. Alistair yanked her back as a burning ball of tar landed in her path, flung by the darkspawn’s trebuchets. She thanked him wordlessly and they continued on. They just had to get to the beacon…

* * *

It was easier said than done. Sereda wiped a splatter of blood from her face, huffing for air. They had nearly reached the tower in one piece, joined by a Circle mage and one of Cailan’s men. The Tower of Ishal had been overrun, darkspawn flooding up from the tunnels like deepstalkers. Her and Alistair’s annoyance at having the “easy” task had been replaced by terror. They were only on the second level of the tower, and she thought she heard the sound of horns.

Alistair barricaded the door behind them with help from the mage. When he was sure of their safety, he sank to the floor with a weary sigh. “Maker’s breath! What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance here!”

“You could try telling them they’re in the wrong place,” Sereda suggested in between pants.

Alistair laughed, breathless and hollow. “Right. Clearly, this is all just a misunderstanding. We’ll laugh about it later.”

“We need to hurry,” Cailan’s man said, helping Alistair to his feet. “We have to get you to the top of the tower and light the signal. Teyrn Loghain is waiting!”

Reluctantly, they set off. Sereda’s heart pounded beneath the armor, a thunking rhythm that had begun once they had crossed from the camp.

She looked to Alistair, his hand clamped to a gash on his side. A twinge of guilt ran through her at the sight of his blood-slick fingers. He had been sliced by a hurlock that was running towards her. Alistair had blocked the hurlock’s first blade, but couldn’t dodge its second. Sereda had lopped off the blighter’s head, earning a smile of gratitude from Alistair, even as his blood ran out to meet his armor. The mage had attempted to heal it, but Alistair had shied away, claiming he was alright. She resolved to find Ryland after this and have him heal her new friend. Alistair would trust Ryland if she did.

They cleared the second level, Sereda’s face contorting as she fought back wave after wave of nausea. The darkspawn had piled their victims together, large masses of blood and tissue everywhere Sereda could see. Between the displays of horror, the fire did its best to burn anything it could. The smell was worse than anything she could have imagined. It was sulfur and blood and shit and burning hair. _You must get through this_ , she told herself when her she slipped in the blood oozing from a particularly large heap of bodies. _You can’t dishonor the Ancestors._

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen the horrors the darkspawn wrought, of course. Excursions in the Deep Roads had their fair share of disgusting sights. But it was somehow different there. Perhaps it was the companions; with her men, she was the confident Commander Aeducan. They would shudder as they passed the piles of bodies, but most had been turned to bone by the time the dwarves got to them. Her Ancestors would lead them to victory, so close to the Stone. Here, she wasn’t sure her Ancestors could hear her prayers.

“This should be the top,” Alistair hoped, leading them up a short flight of stairs. “We can light the beacon and finally get out of this hellhole—” He sucked in a breath through his teeth and let out a quiet string of curses.

“What is it?” Sereda asked, pushing past Alistair to see for herself what stopped him. She could see the beacon across the room, a large pyre waiting to be lit. Between their small party and their goal, was a massive ogre, its back to them still.

She and Alistair looked at each other, twin expressions of terror. His side was still bleeding; her stomach was still turning from the horrors below them. Their companions had proven better than expected, but how well could they all fair against an ogre?

They had no chance to discuss it, or to retreat. The ogre turned, lumbering toward them with a feral roar. Sereda rolled out of the way, yanking the mage with her. Alistair went the other direction, the soldier chasing after him. The ogre, too large to turn quickly, smashed into the wall above the stairwell. He recovered fast enough, though, wheeling around to face them.

“Freeze him!” Sereda urged the mage, who looked at her blankly.

She waved her hands about wildly, running from the monstrous darkspawn’s path. “An ice storm, or snow, or whatever you call it! Just make him still!”

The mage got to work, having to stop when the ogre turned his dark eyes on him. Soon a storm whirled around them, locking the ogre in place long enough for Alistair and the soldier to charge him. Their blades mostly bounced off the ice sheets, Sereda managed to blush when she saw Alistair’s annoyed look at her, but they made progress. The beast howled, swinging his massive arms about to knock them off their feet.

Sereda charged it, her sword and dagger out. She sliced at its ankle, cheering when she caught a tendon. It fell to a knee but managed to sweep back and smash into her. She flew across the room, the air sucked from her lungs, landing in a heap on the stone floor. She cried out noiselessly and screwed her eyes shut as the pain washed over her.

The ogre roared. She forced her eyes open at the sound, trying to breathe through the agony of what she assumed was a broken rib.

Alistair and the soldier were flanking it, taking turns hacking away with their swords. The mage hurled a fist of stone at it, stunning it for a moment. Sereda dragged herself to sitting, gritting her teeth with the effort. _They need you_. She screamed as she stood, drawing the focus of the ogre for a moment.

She ran towards it, thoughts of the Paragons in her head. She thought of Astyth the Grey, fighting in her Proving with her bare hands. _If I make it out of this, I’ll cut my own damn tongue out,_ Sereda thought, swinging her sword to slice the ogre across the stomach. It reeled back and Sereda leapt onto it. _I’ll get her stupid tattoo on my face, too!_

The hands of her Ancestors guided her up, and she was able to bury her dagger into the ogre’s chest for purchase. It yelped, whirling backwards as she made contact. It fell to the ground, Sereda nearly losing her grip on her blade. She didn’t waste time in plunging her sword through the ogre’s throat, glaring down at its rotten teeth and twisted face. She turned her blade with a wrench, silencing the gurgling coming from its mouth.       

She slid off of it with a thump, hitting the ground ungracefully. She stared at the ceiling high above her, the sounds of the battle below disappearing. It was enough to just rest, even if she knew it would be short-lived. Perhaps she could shut her eyes, for a moment only; perhaps she could sleep…

Alistair trotted up, kneeling beside her to check for wounds. When he saw she was, relatively, hale, he pulled her to her feet. “Well, color me impressed,” he breathed, smiling beneath a sheen of sweat and gore. Sereda chuckled as best she could and made eyes at a small fire burning near the pyre.

“Want to do the honors,” she asked Alistair, motioning toward the beacon.

He bowed gallantly, albeit with a wince and one hand still clamped to his torso. “After you, my lady.”

The pyre went up quickly, the circular room filled with its bright light. The four of them looked at each other, silent save their panting breath.

“What now,” the mage finally asked. He leaned on his staff and wiped the sweat trickling from his brow with his sleeve.

Alistair shrugged. “I suppose we wait. Let’s rest a few minutes and then we’ll head back down. We can make our way back to camp when it seems clear enough.” The others agreed to the plan and Sereda flopped to the ground with a happy sigh. Rest sounded splendid.

She was buoyed by the knowledge that Loghain and his troops were helping the Wardens now. There were more darkspawn then she could have ever imagined, but what were they against skilled warriors? She agreed with Cailan then; the Blight would be over before it could begin. Soon she would be headed somewhere nicer, covered in less blood probably, and she could sleep for days if she wished.

It had been a quarter of an hour when a curious sound came from the stairwell. It sounded very much like dozens of heavy feet smashing into stone.

It struck Sereda first, and she shouted. “It’s the horde! They must have broken through the barricade!” They all scrambled to their feet, weapons ready.

Genlocks and hurlocks flooded in first, their disgusting faces gaping with screams and cheers. Sereda moved to engage them, her heart thudding once more. She didn’t get far before an arrow slid neatly through her shoulder. She looked down at it in shock, the pain delayed until she saw the blood begin to well. Alistair shouted her name, but it seemed so far away now.

“Ancestors guide me!” She shouted, fighting against the sharp agony and resuming her charge. But another arrow pierced her side, and a third hit her arm. She screamed, shamed into falling to her knees. She wanted to keep going, she wanted to fight. _The dwarves do not give up!_ But the world swam around her, the darkspawn blurring into one horrifying mass.

_Father, forgive me_. The blackness took her.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this chapter as much as I do! Comments and kudos are, as always, immensely appreciated! Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

She came back into herself slowly. She felt her toes first, rubbing against rough fabric. This sensation went up her legs and over her stomach, scratching at bare skin. Her arms were compressed, like firms hands up and down their short length. Her head ached viciously, but lay on something soft and warm. All of her was warm, in fact. A pleasant glow ran through her and caressed her from within, at odds with the itchy blanket.

Sereda hazarded opening one eye, and then two, glancing about her. The room was unremarkable save the other occupant. The young witch Morrigan sat at the fire, golden eyes watching her charge. She smiled when Sereda moved to sit up.

“Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased.”

Sereda looked about, her heart starting to pound. The warm calm she felt upon waking was fleeing. She looked down at her chest, clad only in her smallclothes, to see a poultice covering the spot an arrow should be. She sat up too quickly, her side protesting it with a jolt through her rib cage. Morrigan moved forward to help her, slender fingers rearranging the blanket.

“What happened? Where are we-” Sereda demanded, her hands going to Morrigan’s arms.

The witch remained calm, speaking softly. “You were injured, and then Mother rescued you. You are in our hut. Do you not remember?”

“I remember being overwhelmed…” And perhaps the feeling of flying? It was so strange, but Sereda had the distinct impression she had been high above the trees.

Morrigan nodded and continued helpfully. “Mother managed to save you and your friend, though ‘twas a close call. What is important is that you both live.”

_My friend? Alistair?_ There had been the four of them, what if this witch had rescued the mage, or the soldier… It was a terrible thought, she realized, to only hope for Alistair’s safety. Yet, she didn’t know the names of the other two. She never had thought to ask. Alistair was a Grey warden like she was, a brother-in-arms.

She would see soon enough who her “friend” was, but for now, Sereda had more pressing concerns than the dread dripping in her gut. “What about the battle? Who won?”

Morrigan chewed her lip before she answered. She spoke cautiously, as though Sereda was likely collapse again if she said the wrong thing. “The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend… he is not taking it well.”

Sereda’s heart sank. Massacred was not a word used lightly. “What happened to the Grey Wardens? And the king?”

“All dead.”

The breath went out from Sereda’s chest and she reached out for Morrigan’s hand. The witch grimaced but allowed the contact.

_All dead_. Strangely, the first face Sereda could see was Percy’s. His laughter at her on the horse, or the smirk he wore when she fell into the pond and thought herself surely drowned. He must have faced down the darkspawn the same as she did, but here she lay, bandaged and warm, and he was…

_Jon and Ryland_ , it hit her a beat after, and she couldn’t suppress her tears. She wouldn’t see Ryland’s wide, wild grin, or hear Jon’s kind laugh. They were among the first humans she met on the surface, and surely among the kindest. Wiped out, because Loghain left… _Why did he leave?_

_But surely Duncan,_ she almost asked Morrigan about the commander, as though the witch would know him by name, but caught herself at sight of the girl’s face. She meant what she said. They were all dead.

She put aside the grief that began to swell in her empty chest. Whispering, she asked, “There were no survivors besides us?” It seemed impossible to be the only ones. There were always deserters, and those clever enough to run when a battle went south. And the Wardens were trained to battle the darkspawn, some had to have survived the onslaught!

Morrigan shook her head. “Only stragglers that are long gone. You would not want to see what is happening in that valley now.”

“Why? What’s happening?”

“Are you sure you want me to describe it,” Morrigan asked, sounding very much as though she was unsure she wanted to.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

Morrigan shook off whatever qualms she had and spoke pragmatically. “I had a good view of the battlefield. ‘Tis a grisly scene. There are bodies everywhere, and darkspawn swarm them… feeding, I think. They also look for survivors and drag them back down beneath the ground. I cannot say why.” She clearly wasn’t one to sugar-coat the truth.

Sereda thought of the tower and the bloody heaps of bodies. To think of all those in the battle, massed like that… She bent over and vomited, Morrigan grabbing a bucket to catch it just in time. The witch patted Sereda’s back with a sharp staccato as she retched. Sereda waited until she recovered enough to ask, “So those survivors might be rescued?”

“If you’re willing to run into the midst of the horde, perhaps. And besides being willing, you must be able to cut a swathe through them. Thick as ants on a corpse.”   

Sereda leaned back, grimacing at the sour taste in her mouth. “Are we safe here? Where are the darkspawn now?” She was in no shape to fight, and she was sure no matter who her friend was, he wouldn’t be either.

“We are safe, for the moment. Mother’s magic keeps the darkspawn away. Once you leave, ‘tis uncertain what will happen. The bulk of the horde has moved on, so you might avoid it.”

Sereda nodded and began to work on the process of standing. Clearly, Morrigan and her mother had given her a lot of healing attention, but her joints were stiff from being too long abed. Morrigan helped her to her feet and fetched her armor.

It was clean; Sereda thanked Morrigan with a wan smile. She poked her finger through the hole the arrow made in her chest plate, and shivered. A few inches lower, and she would have been beyond any healing. _Thanks to the Ancestors._ She ached to be home in Orzammar so she could give proper acknowledgement to the Stone, else the Ancestors might not see fit to save her the next time.

“Why…” Sereda began, clearing her throat of the emotions welling up. “Why did your mother save us?”

“I wonder at that myself. Perhaps you were the only ones she could reach.” The witch helped her with the armor, securing it with a smile. “I would have rescued your king. A king would be worth a much higher ransom than you.”

Sereda laughed, drawing a look of surprise from Morrigan. “Much, much higher.”

“What a sensible attitude. Mother is seldom sensible, however.” The young witch handed Sereda her sword and dagger. She promptly secured them, some of her strength returning to feel their now familiar weight.

Sereda looked up at Morrigan, who had started to move to the door. “How _did_ she manage to rescue us, exactly?”

“She turned into a giant bird and plucked the two of you from atop the tower, one in each talon.” Sereda stared at Morrigan, unsure how to react. The witch continued, “If you do not believe that tale, then I suggest you ask Mother yourself. She may even tell you.”   

Morrigan gestured to the door, her strange eyes crinkled sympathetically. “Now, ‘tis time you speak with Mother then be on your way.”

Sereda sucked in a deep breath, shuddering it out, and nodded. It had been almost nice, talking with Morrigan in the hut. The tower, the battle, it could all be a terrible fantasy. Outside meant facing the truth. And the horrid fear that the face waiting to greet her just beyond the door was not the one she hoped for.

Morrigan opened the door and Sereda walked through, her heart pounding as she saw her fellow survivor’s back.

“See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man.” At the elder witch’s words, Alistair whirled around, his brows going from downturned sorrow to raised surprise.

He reached Sereda in a few long strides, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close into his plate. He bent over her, his face pressed on top of her hair, and she could feel the remnants of his tears.

She realized was crying too, a mixture of sorrow and relief. She laid her face against the cool metal of his armor, breathing deeply to keep from sobbing. There was a scent to him, something she couldn’t explain, but it eased the burden of her worries in an instant. At least she wasn’t alone.

“Maker, you… you’re alive! I thought you were dead for sure.” Alistair spoke into her hair before moving back, still holding her. She looked up at him, noting the redness of his eyes and the tip of his nose, before looking to the wound at his side. She touched the hole in his armor, pleased to see the gash had been healed. _Probably when he was asleep_ , she thought, remembering how he refused the mage. Besides the evidence of his grief, he seemed no worse for wear.

“I’m fine,” she said, lamely, knowing he knew it was only half true.

He released her and wiped the tears from his face. “This doesn’t seem real. If it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother, we’d be dead on top of that tower.” _Like the rest_ , he didn’t add.

The witch glared at him and chided, “Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad.”

Alistair shook his head with wide eyes. “I didn’t mean… but what do we call you? You never told us your name.”

She mused, pondering some unknown thought. Finally, she crooned, “Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do.”

The name meant nothing to Sereda, but Alistair’s eyebrows flew up and his jaw dropped. It was a few moments before he recovered enough to speak. “ _The_ Flemeth? From the legends? Daveth was right—you’re the Witch of the Wilds!”

Flemeth narrowed her eyes. “And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?”

Sereda laid a hand on Alistair’s arm before he could speak again. “I suppose we should thank you, Flemeth.”

“If you know what is good for you, I suppose you should!” Flemeth threatened.

“Is there some way we can repay you,” Sereda asked, thinking how she had no gold or treasure to trade. Perhaps she could write Orzammar…

The witch laughed, startling Alistair and Sereda. Morrigan rolled her eyes and went back into the hut.

“All that I wish you to do is what you are meant to do.” Sereda and Alistair exchanged looks of confusion. Flemeth continued slowly as though speaking to children, “It has always been the Grey Wardens’ duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn’t looking?”

_What Grey Wardens?_ If Morrigan was to be believed, and Sereda could think of no reason the young woman would lie, Alistair and she were the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden. And Sereda hadn’t been a Grey Warden more than a handful of days! How were two Wardens going to defeat the Blight?

“It changed when most of them were slaughtered,” she finally replied, ignoring the sunken look to Alistair’s face.

“If you think small numbers make you helpless, you are indeed already defeated.”

Alistair protested, sinking to sit on a twisted log. “But we _were_ fighting the darkspawn! The king had nearly defeated them! Why would Loghain do this?”

Flemeth was pleased. “Now _that_ is a good question. Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat.”

“The Archdemon,” Alistair said venomously. “We didn’t see it, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there.”

The dragon in her nightmare reared its head and she grimaced. “What exactly is an Archdemon?” Duncan had said the Archdemon meant it was a true Blight, but the dwarves did not care if it was “true” or not. Darkspawn were darkspawn in the eyes of Orzammar, no matter their purpose.

Flemeth’s smoky voice gave response. “It is said that, long ago, the Maker sent the Old Gods of ancient Tevinter to slumber in prisons deep beneath the surface. The darkspawn are driven to find the Old Gods, and thus dig and dig until they can finally reach one. An Archdemon is an Old God that has been found and tainted by the darkspawn.”

Sereda raised an eyebrow, skeptical. The Maker seemed to be the answer for everything on the surface…

Flemeth saw her critical eye, and continued with a shrug. “Believe that or not, history says it’s a fearsome and immortal thing. And only fools ignore history,” she finished significantly.

“We should contact the rest of the Grey Wardens.” It was the only thing Sereda could think of to do.

Alistair shook his head. “Cailan already summoned them. They’ll come if they can, but I expect Loghain has already taken steps to stop them. He would rather doom us then receive help from Orlesians. We must assume they won’t arrive in time.”

“What could the teyrn hope to gain by betraying the king?” Sereda reluctantly thought of Bhelen for the first time in weeks. He had betrayed her easily enough after a lifetime of friendship and unity. _What could he hope to gain by betraying me?_

“Is he after the throne? He’s the queen’s father, and the commander of the king’s troops. Still, I can’t see how he’ll get away with murder.”

Flemeth scoffed. “You speak as if he would be the first king to gain his throne that way. Grow up, boy!”

Alistair turned red and narrowed his eyes. “If Arl Eamon knew what he did, he would never stand for it! The _Landsmeet_ would never stand for it! There would be civil war!”

The name prickled Sereda’s memory. “Arl Eamon? Is this someone important?”

“I suppose… Arl Eamon wasn’t at Ostagar; he still has all his men. And he’s Cailan’s uncle, Queen Rowan was his elder sister.” As Alistair spoke, a spark seemed to go off in his mind. “I know him well. He’s a good man, respected in the Landsmeet… We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!”

“He will see the danger the Blight poses, right?” Hearing Loghain and Cailan’s underwhelming response to Duncan’s warnings had Sereda worried. To her, and the rest of the dwarves, the Blight was a never-ending reality. On the surface, many humans went their whole lives without ever seeing a darkspawn.

Flemeth shrugged. Offhandedly she said, “You could wait for the Archdemon to make its appearance. I imagine that might be convincing.”

“Nobody will take it seriously until it’s too late. It’s been centuries since the last Blight.”

Speaking to Arl Eamon was a step in the right direction, but Sereda knew it wouldn’t be enough. If all the king’s horses and all the Grey Warden’s men fell against the horde, how would one lord’s forces do any better?

“Surely there are others we could call on.”

“Of course!” Alistair leapt off the log and grabbed Sereda’s arms in excitement. “The treaties! Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, anyone in all of Thedas! They’re obligated to help us during a Blight!”

“I may be old,” Flemeth began, earning a narrow look from Alistair and Sereda, “but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon… this sounds like an army to me.”

Alistair looked down towards Sereda’s face, his warm eyes softening. “So can we do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places and… build an army?”

Sereda had a profound sense of dread. She wanted nothing more than to refuse, to run to the nearest city and find a kindly merchant to take her in. Or she could live the life of a mercenary; she was definitely good enough with her blades and she had her own armor. She reached for her necklace, humming at the base of her throat. _No, you are a Grey Warden now._

“Why not,” she said with a manic laugh. “Isn’t that what we Grey Wardens do?”

They hugged, both laughing and crying in their nervous excitement.

“So you are set, then? Ready to be Grey Wardens,” Flemeth asked, a toothless smile on her wrinkled face.

“Yes. Thank you again for everything, Flemeth.” Sereda released Alistair and bowed.

“No, no, thank _you_. You are the heroes here, not I. But… before you go off to save us all, there is yet one more thing I can offer you.”

“The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we have two guests for the eve or none?” Morrigan left the hut, her eyes flashing as the afternoon sun hit them.

“The Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them.”

“Such a shame,” Morrigan began, before her mother’s words hit her. “What?!”

“You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears!” Flemeth threw her head back in a hearty chuckle.

Sereda and Alistair looked to each other, his face suspicious. Sereda hesitated. “Thank you, but if Morrigan doesn’t wish to join us—”

“Her magic will be useful,” Flemeth interjected. “Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde.”

“Have I no say in this?” Morrigan’s cheeks turned an alarming shade of red, hands clenching at her side.

“You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance! As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives.” It seemed a threat more than a deal.

Alistair opened his mouth to object, but Sereda cut him off. “Very well, we’ll take her with us.”

“Not to… look a gift horse in the mouth, but won’t this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she’s an apostate.” Alistair raised his brows and whispered.

The witches heard regardless of his volume. Flemeth crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should put you back in that tower.”

He opened and shut his mouth a few times before conceding. “Point taken.”

Morrigan, her face back to its usual pale but now with downturned brow and mouth, grasped Flemeth’s arm and turned her away from the Wardens. “Mother, this is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready—”

“You must be ready. Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They _need_ you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight.” She held her daughter’s face in her hands and smiled. “Even I.”

Morrigan sighed and nodded. “I understand. Allow me to get my things, if you please.”

“And you, Wardens? Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed.”

Sereda and Alistair nodded. Flemeth and Morrigan went into the hut, Sereda assumed to say their farewells.

“Do you really want to take her along because her mother says so?”

Sereda shrugged. “We need all the help we can get. A mage, even an apostate, is something we’ll surely need.” She thought of Ryland’s wink as he conjured up a storm with a heavy heart.

“I guess you’re right. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them.”

The witches returned, Morrigan holding a small cloth sack to her chest. “Dear, sweet mother,” she said, “you are so kind to cast me out like this. How fondly I shall remember this moment.” She spoke without malice, despite the pointed words.

Flemeth chuckled. “Well, I always said if you want something done, do it yourself, or hear about it for a decade or two after.”

The four of them stood, staring at each other, Flemeth humming a nameless tune. Finally, Morrigan sighed and turned back to face her mother. “Farewell, then. Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned-down hut.”

“Bah,” Flemeth said with a dismissive gesture. “‘Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed by the Blight.”

Morrigan blanched, sputtering, “I… all I meant was—”

Flemeth silenced her with a hug and a kiss to her forehead. “Yes, I know. Do try to have fun, dear.”

The witch waved them off as Morrigan led the way, shoulders slumped around her meager belongings.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was another beast for me, but I'm pleased how it came out! Hope you are too! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	14. Chapter 14

Morrigan led them in silence for a time, treading a similar path out of the Wilds she’d taken them on days before. Sereda and Alistair remained silent as well, with only the soft jingling of their armor indicating they were more than specters looking to haunt the twisted trees.

Abruptly, Morrigan planted her feet and spoke; Alistair and Sereda scrambled to stop, too. She addressed the ground with a flat voice. “I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. ‘Tis not far and you will find much you need there. Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours.”

Sereda was quite sure what Alistair’s choice would be, so she replied before he could set Morrigan off. “We prefer you speak your mind.” Alistair grumbled; Sereda nudged him with her shoulder and a glare.

The young woman seemed surprised, her eyebrows raising before one slammed down in suspicion. “Very well…” she drawled. “Let me tell you of this town, Lothering.’

“‘Tis little more than a stop along the Imperial Highway, a place where travelers can purchase goods from the local farms and smiths. I have been there from time to time, to observe the people and to procure necessities. I would go more often were it not for the town’s chantry. It makes the village particularly intolerant and unpleasant for a… stranger like me.”

Alistair shook his head and asked with incredulity, “A chantry? And they never, in all this time, thought that _maybe_ you were a witch?”

Morrigan bristled. “Of course they have. They even called out their templars once. They found nothing.”

Templars were the last thing they needed. Flemeth told them how precious Morrigan was to her. She surely would not take lightly to her daughter being taken to a Circle. Or worse. “Is there any reason to go there, then? If they have their suspicions?”

“They have a tavern, where travelers gather with news from other places. ‘Tis large enough that our appearance might go unnoticed. Beyond that, ‘tis close and I know the way.”

“How are we going to get past the darkspawn?” The horde was looting and ravaging the battlefield still and they wouldn’t be reasoned with.

Alistair answered, cutting Morrigan off. “We can sense the darkspawn. Conversely, they can sense us.”

Sereda thought back to the battle. She hadn’t _sensed_ the darkspawn beyond smelling their foul breath and hearing their chilling shouts. “I don’t sense any darkspawn now.”

“You won’t right away,” Alistair said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “It takes time. We should be able to sneak past smaller groups, but larger ones or particularly intelligent darkspawn will notice us.”

“Mother has given me something else for them to ‘smell’ instead as we pass by. ‘Tis important we head out of the Wilds, however, and not farther in,” Morrigan pulled from her sack a twisted amulet, the amber gem surrounded by thorny black and green vines. It looked arcane enough that Alistair and Sereda didn’t argue.

They resumed their walk, Morrigan mentioning a good place to camp a few hours on. Sereda was suddenly weary, struggling to put one foot in front of another. Weeks on the road followed by what was shaping to be weeks on the road again; she was dreading it. At least with Duncan and the others, another set of names to send a twinge through her heart, it was headed toward a known future. To _Ostagar_ and their comrades and the promise of glory and victory. Now their strange band went to… build an army, she supposed. _How do you build an army?_

It was dusk when they reached Morrigan’s campsite, a clearing in the woods large enough for a small fire and the three of them to lay on the ground. Morrigan set up wards, her arms moving languidly through the air, lips murmuring the incantations barely above a whisper. Sereda flopped to the ground, hissing as a jolt of pain from her side coursed through her. Alistair’s eyes crinkled in concern, but she waved him off. They had enough to worry about without her complaints.

He volunteered to get firewood, eyeing Morrigan as she did her rituals. Sereda looked up from the ground when Morrigan nudged her with a toe.

“I have finished with my spells. We will be safe for the eve.”

“Thank you, Morrigan. I’m sure we’ll all sleep better for it.”

The witch looked to the forest around them before looking back down. “And what shall we do for food? Mother gave me a few biscuits but ‘tis hardly enough to sustain us until we reach Lothering.”

Sereda sat up with a grimace. “I suppose we’ll have to… hunt?” She didn’t do any of the hunting on the road from Orzammar, though she had tried. 

“Do either you or the sulky one _know_ how to hunt?” Morrigan asked incredulously.

“I can’t speak for Alistair, but I know the principles—”

Morrigan’s grand sigh cut Sereda off, and she started to strip her clothes. “It seems that I will also be in charge of supper, then. Stay here.”

Sereda was surprised to see the witch naked, but not nearly as surprised as when she melted into a dog-like shape. Sereda shrieked and jumped up, running into Alistair and his armful of wood.

He shouted, too, and he dropped the firewood and pulled his sword. “Don’t worry, Sereda! It’s just a wolf! I’ll dispatch it easily enough—”

The wolf turned back into Morrigan, and Alistair’s sword wavered. He clapped his free hand to his eyes after a moment, drawing a mocking laugh from Morrigan.

“Andraste’s flaming sword! Why are you naked?!”

“I cannot very well tear up my only clothes turning into a wolf!” Sereda thought wildly, heart still hammering, it was a good point.

“Why are you a wolf at all,” Alistair asked with a choked voice.

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Someone has to hunt unless you would prefer not to eat.” When Alistair and Sereda remained silent, Morrigan transformed again into the wolf and trotted off, a human-like saunter to her gait.

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair cursed as he sheathed his sword. “I’m gone for a few minutes…”

Sereda chuckled, helping him pick up the bundle of wood. "I didn't even know magic could do such things."

Alistair glared, arranging the logs in the center of their makeshift campsite. "Templars are trained to deal with shapeshifting, but I've never seen it in person." He shuddered.

He set up the fire, Sereda watching intently. In Orzammar, they used a smokeless coal to start their fires, dipping it into the flowing magma to ignite it. On the surface, fire starting seemed to involve a great deal more rubbing and cursing.

“Perhaps Morrigan can light it when she returns,” Sereda suggested, resting a hand on Alistair’s shoulder.

He pulled out of her grip and said stormily, “We can’t rely on the witch for everything! We have to be able to do _some_ things for ourselves!”

“Her name is Morrigan. You should get used to saying it,” Sereda chided, sitting back.

Alistair scoffed. “Right. _Morrigan_. That’s a name that just screams good intentions.”

Sereda gave him an appeasing grin and continued to watch him struggle. One strike of his flint managed to do it, setting the small bundle of sticks below the logs aflame. They both cheered and laid back, waiting for Morrigan’s return.

The wolf sauntered up, dropping three small rabbits into Alistair’s lap. He flinched, and then jerked upright as the wolf transformed into Morrigan. He stomped off and shouted over his shoulder, “Tell me when you’re decent!”

Sereda had a feeling Alistair would never find Morrigan _decent_.

“I’m dressed now if that’s what you mean,” the witch called back, slipping her sleeve on with a wink to Sereda.

“Thank you, Morrigan,” Sereda said pointedly, looking up at the returning Alistair. He gave a grunt as his only thanks.  

They got to work skinning the rabbits, Sereda cursing under her breath as she mangled the job. Morrigan finished first and took the dwarf’s before she could ruin more of the meat.

“Can you cook?” Alistair looked at Morrigan hopefully, earning a glare from both women.

The witch was taken aback, setting down her second rabbit slowly. “I… can cook, yes.”

“Never mind him,” Sereda rushed. “You don’t have to cook!” She glared at Alistair.

“You missed your chance. Now it’s charred rabbit from here on out.” He skewered his rabbit and held it over the fire with a raised brow.

He wasn’t lying. Sereda ate hers with quiet gratitude; she had learned well enough on the road that cooks did not take kindly to face-to-face critiques. In Orzammar… she sighed and bit off another smoky piece of meat. She missed being a princess.

Morrigan had no qualms voicing her displeasure. “Next time, try not to scorch the whole creature. Or you shall be catching your own meal to ruin.”

“You know,” Alistair said, tossing a small bone into the dirt, “ _I_ could have gone and caught the supper, and _you_ could have cooked it. Nobody thought to ask the Grey Warden if he was any good at hunting—”

“The dwarf said you did not know—”

“I said no such thing—”

It was after several minutes of shouting and name-calling, all three standing around the fire with eyes narrowed and faces red, that a twig snapped just outside the clearing. They all fell silent and still instantly.

“Darkspawn?” Sereda whispered, looking up at Alistair. He shook his head and reached for the sword at his back.

Morrigan lifted her head and sniffed. “My wards will deter any who wish us ill.” She cocked her head to the side just as a mabari bounded into the camp, leaping on Sereda with a happy bark.

Sereda shrieked as the mabari’s tongue coated her face in its slobber, and she struggled up. Alistair helped her to her feet before kneeling to pet the giant hound.

“I think this is the mabari I muzzled back at Ostagar,” Sereda said, wiping her face with her arm.

Alistair nodded. “I think he was out here looking for you. He’s… chosen you. Mabari are like that. They call it imprinting.”

“Does this mean we’re going to have this mangy beast following us about now?” Morrigan wrinkled her nose and took a few steps back.

“He’s not mangy!” Alistair exclaimed, scratching the mabari behind the ears. “He’s a proud war-hound!”

Sereda massaged her behind surreptitiously, she was sure her tailbone was bruised again from hitting the dirt, and offered, “If you like him, you can have him.”

“Me? Oh, I don’t want a dog. I can barely take care of myself!” Still, Alistair rubbed the beast’s belly with vigor.

Morrigan nudged a burnt rabbit with her toe. “So many comments come to mind I cannot even begin to choose…”

“At any rate,” Alistair interrupted pointedly, looking up at Sereda, “he must remember you helping him. You’re imprinted. Lucky you! There are a lot of people in Ferelden who would do anything for a hound like him.”

Sereda finally bent down to it, hazarding a pat on its head. The mabari leapt up excitedly at the affection, knocking her to her rump again.

“Well, what should I name it?” Sereda asked from the ground. The mabari was licking her face enthusiastically in between its running of manic circles.

“Personally, I’m partial to ‘Barkspawn’,” Alistair offered with a grin.

Sereda and Morrigan looked at him, twin expressions of confusion. “Barkspawn? How is that the appropriate name for a vicious warhound,” the witch asked.

Alistair shrugged. “Just my opinion. He’s your dog, after all, Sereda.”

“You can name the next one.” They laughed, Morrigan rolling her eyes above them.

Sereda pondered for a moment, looking to her new canine companion. “The casteless—some dwarves have a word that means ‘one at my side’. _Salroka_. How do you like that, boy? Salroka sound good?”

The mabari barked happily and licked her face before turning to scarf down the burnt rabbit on the ground.

“Salroka it is!” Sereda declared.

After all the events of the day, only Salroka had any energy left after supper. The hound bounded off, Alistair assuring Sereda it would return to them. Morrigan went off as far as her wards would protect her, and she bundled her sack into a makeshift pillow before promptly falling into a deep slumber, complete with snoring. Alistair and Sereda exchanged a quick giggle and settled themselves into the dirt, their heads resting near each other.

The forest was far from quiet and, despite the exhaustion in her bones, Sereda had a hard time succumbing to sleep. She looked up at the stars, twinkling happily high above them. _It’s so strange, how they seem the same as before._ She knew it was foolish, but she _felt_ the stars should be mourning the death of all those lost so nearby. The human poets spoke of the stars as lovers and warriors, watching Thedas from high above; would they not weep for the Wardens?

Sereda’s gut twisted. When would the death end? From the moment she first spied Trian’s bloodied body, she had been surrounded by it. The thought of Daveth’s blank stare and Jory’s pooled blood swam to the surface of her mind when she closed her eyes, and she sighed. It seemed she wouldn’t be getting much sleep after all.

Salroka returned as she resigned herself to watching the stars, sniffing the perimeter of the camp and snorfling Morrigan’s messy hair, before settling between Alistair and Sereda. She didn’t like its breath, but she enjoyed the warmth of it, great chest rising and falling soothingly next to her.

“Alistair?” She said it softly, both wanting to rouse him and hoping not to. She got only a grunt in response, which she took to mean he was too deep into slumber to truly speak.

“I suppose it’s just you and me, Salroka,” she said to the hound. It moved its great head closer to rest against hers. She smiled and nuzzled against it. _Perhaps this isn’t so bad after all._

Sereda woke suddenly when a strange wet sensation hit her cheek. She bolted upright to see Salroka panting at her. It barked over her shoulder when it saw she was awake and trotted off. She followed its path to see Alistair and Morrigan both packed and ready to hit the road. Morrigan leaned on her staff and gave Sereda a smirk.

“Good morning, Warden. I hope you enjoyed your lie-in, since ‘tis likely to be your last for some time.”

Sereda glared and pushed herself up from the ground with a groan. The sun was hardly high enough to see over the trees, which Sereda remembered meant it was still early in the day. She had opened her mouth to protest the implication when Alistair tossed her a dry biscuit.

“We should get going, I sense darkspawn nearby. Eat that,” he pointed to the biscuit she turned over in her hands.

She nibbled on it unwillingly; her stomach was growling but it was tasteless and stale. _I would give anything for a big deep mushroom pie._ In Lothering she could buy something, she told herself. She would sell her sword for a giant mug of ale and a steaming roast of whatever humans ate… She realized that she was famished, and she finished off the biscuit without another thought. Alistair handed her a second biscuit, and she smiled sheepishly at him.

Morrigan led them down the path, ducking in and out of the tree line at random. “We’re a few hours from the town, yet. We should reach there by midday—just in time for the overly pious cattle to fill the Chantry for noon worship.”

“How dare they take comfort in the Maker during a Blight,” Alistair drawled. “Very foolish of them.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes and continued. “We should able to get supplies and hear the gossip and be out of town in short order.”

“And then what? We should talk about where we intend to go first.” They both looked at Sereda intently, who was wiping crumbs from her armor.

“We need to hear some news before we can decide.” _But not Orzammar_ , she wanted to add. Maybe they wouldn’t need to go to Orzammar at all…

“But we need to decide what our general plan is for afterward, don’t we?” When Sereda didn’t reply with anything more than a nod, he continued, “I think what Flemeth suggested is the best idea. These treaties… did you have the chance to look at them?”

“No, there wasn’t time.” She thought of the how fast it had all happened; one moment they had returned from the Wilds and the next they were being overrun in the Tower.

Morrigan popped back to the road, digging through her pack. “Mother gave them to me to safeguard.” She pulled out the sealed scrolls and handed them unceremoniously to Alistair.

He broke the seals without a word of thanks. Morrigan gave a huff but stopped along with the Wardens to examine the scrolls.

Alistair spoke after they had opened them all, “There are three main groups we have treaties for; the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi.”

She knew who she _wouldn’t_ choose. “Any of them seem like a good start,” Sereda said diplomatically.

Alistair nodded, but he said hesitantly, “I still think Arl Eamon is our best bet for help. We might even want to go to him first. If you think that’s best, of course.” He looked down at Sereda expectantly.

She’d only been a Warden a few days; Alistair’s tenure was exponentially longer. “Why are you leaving it up to me?”

“Well, I don’t know where we should go!” Alistair raised his brows in shock. “I’ll do whatever you decide.”

“Now that is unsurprising,” Morrigan said with a scoff.

Alistair ignored her. “Arl Eamon is a good man, but I don’t know for sure he’s where we should go. I’m not going to fight about it.”

Sereda nodded slowly, skimming the treaties once again. The seal of Orzammar sent a sick jolt through her chest. _Not Orzammar_ , she vowed to the Stone.

“What do you think we should do, Morrigan?” Sereda asked to buy some time to think.

The witch’s gold eyes widened, but she replied thoughtfully. “Go after your enemy directly. Find this man, Loghain, and kill him. The rest of this business with the treaties can then be done in safety.”

“Yes,” Alistair rolled his eyes and shook his head. “He certainly wouldn’t see that coming! And it’s not like he has the advantage of an army and experience and—”

Morrigan interrupted, indignant, “I was asked for my opinion and I gave it! If your wish is to come up with reasons why something _cannot_ be done, we will stand here until the darkspawn are upon us!”

Sereda was getting the sense she was going to be playing the perennial peacekeeper. “We cannot go after Loghain, but we also cannot just waltz into Orzammar… or the other places, without some protection. We’ll go to this Arl Eamon first since you know him.”

“I can lead us to Redcliffe; it’s in the western part of Ferelden, near the mountain passes to Orlais.”

“From there, we can figure out what to do. Agreed?” She waited until the humans nodded before continuing down the road. _But not Orzammar,_ she thought, some of her dread lifting.       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a bit lighter after all the doom and gloom! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always loved and cared for.


	15. Chapter 15

They moved swiftly through the forest, avoiding the pockets of darkspawn Alistair sensed, and soon hit the Imperial Highway. Its crumbling path did little to raise Sereda’s spirit, memories of her travels to Ostagar on her mind. Thoughts of Jon and Ryland cajoling her into smiling, or Duncan pontificating on the Wardens; it was more than Sereda’s heart could bear. She pushed ahead of the party so they couldn’t see the stricken look on her face. She was sure Alistair was feeling much the same, he had lost many more friends than she had, but Morrigan wouldn't understand their pain. Sereda did not want to begin another argument, so she sucked in a deep breath and pushed the solemn thoughts from her mind just as the sign for Lothering appeared beside the road.

A group blocked the way into the town, their patched together carts positioned so one had to deal with them before moving on. Sereda groaned internally and the foursome halted.

“Wake up, gentlemen! More travelers to attend to.” One of the men strode forward, looking to be the leader of the bandits. He looked Sereda and her companions up and down before adding, “Led by a dwarf, oddly enough…”

Another bandit came forward and spoke with a clear note of trepidation. “Er… they don’t look much like them others, you know. Uh… maybe we should just let these ones pass…”  _Smart idea,_ she had little patience for criminals on her best days, and less now, hungry and downtrodden as she was.

Alistair pulled Sereda back by her arm, eyes trained on the men before them.  He inclined his head to whisper, “Highwaymen. Preying on those fleeing the darkspawn, I suppose.”

“They are fools to get in our way,” Morrigan said as she reached for her staff. The tip crackled with energy as she twirled it about her. “I say we teach them a lesson.”

The leader of the highwaymen shook his head and admonished them. “Now is that any way to greet someone? A simple ten silvers and you’re free to move on.”

Sereda shook out of Alistair’s grip and glared at the band of thieves. “You should listen to your friend. We’re not refugees.”

“What did I tell you? No wagons, and that one looks like an apostate!” The cautious man backed away, his eyes searching for support from his comrades. A few of the others murmured in agreement.

“The toll applies to everyone, Hanric. That’s why it’s a _toll_ and not, say, a refugee tax.” The leader grinned maliciously at Sereda. She glared back, her cheeks heating in her rage. _Gouging those running from the Blight is lower than low_.

“We’re to believe you’re toll collectors, then?” Sereda raised an eyebrow at the patched armor and dented weapons of the bandits. “Perhaps it is different on the surface, but all that I’ve met that deal with money benefit greatly from their trade.”

The leader ignored the implication and said brightly, “For the upkeep of the Imperial Highway! It’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it?”

Sereda kicked a crumbling section of wall, watching the leader’s face rearrange into the picture of confusion as it fell to the dirt below them.

“Perhaps you should charge more, then.”

The bandit lowered a brow, suspicious, and he replied slowly, “You _want_ to pay more? Well, we’ll happily accept donations—”

“I’m just saying it’s rough business for such a pittance.” She rested her hand on her dagger significantly.

The leader bristled and slowly drew his sword, the others in his band doing the same. “I could be mistaken, but that sounded threatening. Interesting, because you seem a bit outnumbered.”

It was true, there was only the three of them, plus Salroka, versus eight bandits. Still, they held their makeshift weapons with unpracticed hands and their faces reflected more than a little unease. The ones who had agreed with Hanric shrank back towards the wagons, eyes flicking between their leader and her. 

“It’s hard to be outnumbered by common thugs,” Sereda spat, pulling her sword and dagger free from their sheaths. Alistair followed suit while Morrigan began to chant under her breath.

“Well I can’t say I’m pleased to hear that. We have rules, you know,” the leader spoke loudly as he motioned for his fellows to form up.

“Yeah! We get to ransack your corpse, then. Those are the rules.” Hanric cracked his knuckles before reaching for the greataxe at his back.

“You can certainly try,” Sereda said as she ran forward.

The din of the melee surrounded Sereda, drowning out the pulsing hunger in her gut. Even outnumbered, the Wardens, the witch, and the warhound had the clear upper hand. A few of the bandits ran at the start of the fight, and those that remained proved to be no challenge for Sereda’s blades. When he was the only one left, Sereda knocked the leader to the ground, a boot on his throat and her blade above his heart before he could fight her off.

He choked beneath her weight, the words coming out in fits, “All right! I surrender! We-we-we’re just trying to get by, before the darkspawn get us all!”

“Get by?” Sereda shouted incredulously. She twisted her foot on the bandit, relishing the strangled noise he made. “You’re a criminal, preying on good people running for their lives!”

She lifted her foot some as the man tried to speak again. Breathlessly, he agreed. “Yes, I’m a criminal; I admit it! I apologize!”

 _Now what?_ Sereda glanced at Alistair and Morrigan, both panting with the effort of the fight. Morrigan shrugged, Sereda taking it to mean she couldn’t care less what happened to the bandit, but Alistair’s wide eyes told a different tale.

“I’m turning you in to the authorities,” she proclaimed, relieved to see Alistair’s nod of approval.

The bandit dared to scoff. “There aren’t any in Lothering! Just the templars, and they’ll execute me!”

“They’ll do what they must.” In Orzammar, he would have been branded and banished to Dust Town. Or worse. “Come with me.” She removed her foot and offered the man her hand. He rolled over and started to scramble away.

“I’m not going to let you take me alive!”

Sereda sighed with a shake of her head before driving her sword into the man’s back. He fell with a short cry before going silent.

She yanked her sword out and wiped the blade with the leather of his tunic. She wasn’t happy to do it, but she was glad they wouldn’t be bothering anyone else. She started down the road again, halting and turning when Morrigan cleared her throat.

“Warden, perhaps there is something to gain from this venture?” She swept her hand over the motionless bodies around them.

“You mean to say we should steal from dead men?” Sereda was horrified at the suggestion, until she felt the weight of the dagger at her hip. _Did you not do the same?_ It was different, she reasoned. It was life or death then… She looked to her feet, the leather boots Jon had found for her staring accusingly back. She sighed.

“As much as I hate to say it, she has a point,” Alistair said as he knelt to rummage through the purse of one slain bandit. “We need the gold. And they might have supplies.”

“Make it quick.” She turned her back and waited until their shuffling stopped. When she hazarded a look, Alistair held out a pouch of coins to her, and Morrigan motioned to a pile of weapons at her feet. They took the best of them, Sereda adamant they were to be sold in Lothering, and continued down the path to the town.

“You know,” Alistair said, looking down at Sereda, “taking something from a dead man isn’t the same as stealing.”

 _It is to me_ , she wanted to say, but she couldn’t truly. She had taken her armor and weapons from dead dwarves in the Deep Roads. The only difference was that those corpses were closer to skeletons; they weren’t still bleeding at her feet. She hated being wrong almost as much as she hated seeing her hypocrisy.

She nodded back to her fellow Warden before turning to look to Morrigan. “Is this the town?”

“Indeed. The tavern is in the center of town, though the merchants stay close to the highway.”

They stopped just where the stone of the Imperial Highway met the dirt road leading into Lothering, taking in the comforting sight of the wooden buildings and smoke pluming from the chimneys. Sereda breathed deeply in the wafting scent of meat and ale with a salivating mouth. The biscuits were not enough to tide her over until Redcliffe. Salroka seemed to smell the same as her and it panted at her side.

“Morrigan, why don’t you take Salroka to the tavern and find out what you can about Loghain and the army. Alistair and I will go get supplies.”

Morrigan bowed her head in deference and strolled off, Salroka bounding after her with a wagging tail. Sereda smiled as the disgusted noise Morrigan gave the dog came back with the breeze.

“Now,” she said, glancing to Alistair. “What do we need for the road?”

“Food, first of all, and some tents. Looks like there’s a lot of refugees here; surely someone is selling those kinds of things. We probably will need new armor as well,” he said, his fingers going to the tear in the side of his chest plate. “But only if we can afford it.”

“How much gold do we have?”

Alistair grimaced as he said, “One sovereign, and about forty silver.”

She was aware of how her face contorted into a sheepish smile. “Is… is that a lot on the surface?”

He looked at her with wide eyes before slowly shaking his head. “It’s enough for a good sword and perhaps a loaf of bread. Maybe a few tents, if the merchant is feeling charitable.”

“We do have the weapons to sell, too!” She saw the downcast look to his eyes. “How much do you think they’re worth?”

He shrugged and dug through the sack they had thrown the blades into. “Maybe another sovereign, which is hoping the merchant doesn’t look too closely at the quality.”

Sereda thought of the blade at her back, given to her by her father. It wasn’t as well-made as her own weapons had been, but it was still solid and shining. She pulled it from its sheath and handed it to Alistair.

“How much would this blade be worth?”

“Three sovereigns I’d say. Especially if you found the right—but we can’t! You can’t sell your blade, Sereda!” He pushed the sword back into her hands as he exclaimed.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “If it means we can eat, then I’ll do it. I can take one of the ones you found. We need to get to Arl Eamon, and we can’t do that if we starve to death a mile from Lothering.”

He nodded after a moment, eyes on the ground. “If you’re sure, I can find the smithy and see what I can get for it.”

She heaved the sack of weapons over her shoulder with a forced smile. “Don’t worry, I can take them. Why don’t you go meet with Morrigan?”

He faked a shudder. “Do I have to?”

Sereda rolled her eyes, but her grin was made with less effort than before. “Take the gold and buy a big flagon of ale. That should help.”

“I am honestly not sure there’s enough ale in all of Thedas to make that wi-Morrigan tolerable,” he said with a wink before he strode off.

Sereda huffed towards the smell of molten metal, an aroma that was as familiar as her own mother’s perfume. On the muddy path, she spied a human who watched her with keen eyes. She gave him a nod, having a brief flash of ire that he didn’t bow. _You’re not a princess!_ She shouted at herself, making her nod into a polite smile.

He called out to her just as she passed him. “We don’t see many dwarves in these parts. You here to sell your goods?”

Her grin melted into a frown. She _knew_ most dwarves on the surface were merchants, though a few weeks ago she would have asserted they weren’t dwarves, but surely this human could see that she wasn’t one of them. She glared at him. “Not every dwarf is a merchant, you know.”

“Yeah, and my Aunt Fanny’s an Orlesian chevalier,” he retorted with a roll of his eyes. He jerked his chin towards the town. “You working with the fellow by the bridge?”

“There’s a dwarf by the bridge?” She tried to suppress the hopefulness of her voice, but she couldn’t help the octave jump in her tone. _Perhaps they’ll be willing to help the daughter of their king!_ Even being banished, the Aeducan name surely carried a lot of weight on the surface.

The man scoffed. “Not a _dwarf_. A merchant. Gouging folks by charging a fortune for the basics. They shouldn’t have come here with nothing, I guess.”

“And you think I work with this fellow?” She asked it evenly, tossing the sack down to her feet. She was pleased to see his eyes go round when the cloth parted to show the bramble of blades within.

He started to backtrack, but Sereda interrupted him. “Where’s the weaponsmith?”

“I don’t know, my lady,” he said. “Honest! Oswald up and left with his little ones last week. There’s still some folks selling their wares, so you can see if one of them can help you with… whatever you need.”

She picked the weapons back up and nodded, heading further into town. She earned herself a few errant glances from the good people of Lothering, but she was otherwise unmolested as she looked for a trader to sell the swords and axes. She found a large, burly man standing near a cart and took her chances.

“If you’re thinking of setting up shop next to me, you can forget it, dwarf!” The man shook his head vigorously and pointed to the short bridge crossing the river. “I’ve been here for weeks; you can get another spot!”

Sereda rolled her eyes, too tired to fight the inclination, and tossed the sack of blades at the trader’s feet. “I’m here to _barter_ , not steal your business.”

He bent and looked at the weapon cache, murmuring to himself as he examined. Abruptly, he stood, declaring with a grin, “Fifty silver.”

She opened her mouth to argue, his tone told her she was being cheated but she didn’t know by how much. The trader waggled a finger and continued, “And not one bit more! This isn’t a charity here! If you want that, you’ll have to go to the Chantry! I’ve plenty of weapons already; folks are looking for food and poultices, not more swords!”

Sereda screwed her eyes shut and yanked her sword from her back. When she opened her eyes, the man had back away, fear crossing his face. She tossed the dwarven blade on top of the pile and pleaded, “What about this one? It’s good for at least three sovereign.”

He picked it up excitedly, twirling it between his meaty fingers. “Where’d _you_ get a sword fine as this?” His eyes traveled the length of her body, topped with skeptical brow. “You been scavenging?”

She fought the red tide of anger rising from her toes and retorted, “That sword is from King Endrin’s personal collection! It’s dwarven made, and rare on the surface!” The trader scoffed and sighed theatrically and set the sword down. Her stomach twisted as she watched him ponder it, as though it was just another piece of metal to him. _My father gave it to me_ , she wanted to add, until an angry thought jolted through her. _Harrowmont gave it to you, perhaps Father didn’t even care._ She chewed on her lip as she waited, willing tears away again.

“I can give you four sovereign for the lot, _only_ because I’m feeling generous,” the man said finally, digging into a pouch at his hip.

It seemed the most Sereda was going to get, or at the very least it _sounded_ like the most, so she nodded. “What do you have in the way of supplies? I need some tents and food.”

They completed their transaction, Sereda leaving with her sack stuffed with canvas for three tents, a handful of poultices used for healing, a few loaves of bread that felt suspiciously stale for being “fresh-baked”, and a sovereign leftover for her trouble. She thanked the trader and slunk off toward the tavern, heart sunk to the ground.

Her heart was lifted some by the smell of ale and meat that met her when she pulled open the door to the tavern, and soared further when Alistair waved wildly in her direction. She wove her way through the crowd and deposited the sack at Alistair and Morrigan’s feet with a bashful grin.

“I couldn’t get much,” she shouted over the din, “but I got enough for a week or so on the road. We have about two gold leftover for more food.”

“Excellent!” Alistair clapped her on the back and stood, offering her his seat. “Morrigan and I here were just… discussing the best route to take to Redcliffe.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes and took a swig of her ale before confiding, “The oaf thinks we should head to Lake Calenhad and stay close to the coastline, whereas I _know_ we should go south first and _then_ north, and avoid the lake all together. Especially since the Circle resides in the middle of the lake—”

It reignited their argument, and Sereda sighed. She flagged down a serving girl and ordered her own drink and stew, hoping that they’d have enough gold leftover for the next town. She listened passively to her companions’ fight until a booming voice cut over it all.

“Well! Look what we have here, men. I think we’ve just been blessed.”

All eyes went to a group just at the door. Clad in shining armor with matching blades, the focus of the leader was locked on Sereda. She stood, her hand grasping at the sword missing from her back. _Sod it all_. Her dagger would have to do.

“Uh-oh.” Alistair gripped his own sword. He whispered down to Sereda, “Loghain’s men. This can’t be good.”

The men moved forward, one jostling his commander. “Didn’t we spend all morning asking about a dwarf by this very description? And everyone said they hadn’t seen one?”

“It seems we were lied to, Doyle.”

Unlike the bandits, the number of soldiers sank Sereda’s stomach. It was one thing to fight darkspawn or common thieves, another thing entirely to fight trained warriors. In a tight space and outnumbered twice over, she didn’t like their odds. 

Before they could devolve to blows, a young woman robed in the dress of the Chantry stepped between them. “Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble.” Her voice was musical and came with a gentle smile. “These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge.”

“They’re more than that! They’re Grey Wardens!” An excited crescendo of voices ran through the tavern, with more eyes snapping from drinks up to the brewing commotion. “Now stay out of our way, Sister. You protect these traitors; you’ll get the same as them.”

Morrigan stood. “It looks like he wants a fight. I’m happy to oblige.” The skin of her hands and arms prickled blue, her eyes lighting up to match.

“Right! Let’s make this quick, boys!”

The people of the tavern flattened to the walls as Loghain’s men ran toward the trio. The red-headed Sister stepped in their path, producing two silver blades as she did. She spun and cut down one of the men, and Sereda’s worry eased some. At least they weren’t alone in this battle.

Morrigan began to circle her arms above her head, giving Loghain’s soldiers some pause. Their commander pushed forward, though, swinging his greatsword straight down to split the table; Alistair and Sereda leapt out of the way just in time, and Morrigan redoubled her efforts. Salroka leapt into action, knocking down one soldier before charging another.

With only her dagger, Sereda mostly stayed out of the way, though she was proud when she managed a slice to the heels of two men charging Morrigan. Her allies were better with their weapons than she, and soon Loghain’s men were all on the ale-soaked floor.

“All right, you’ve won!” The commander wiped at a streak of blood forming on his cheek. “We surrender!”

“Good. They’ve learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting now.” The Sister returned her blades to wherever they were hiding in her dress and smiled brilliantly down at Sereda.

Sereda marched up to the commander, her dagger still gripped tightly as a precaution. “The _Grey Wardens_ didn’t betray King Cailan. Loghain did.” She glared as she said it, chest heaving from her second skirmish of the day. _Is it normal to fight this much for humans?_

“I was there!” One of the soldiers rolled off his stomach and called out, indignation ringing in the still quiet tavern. “The teyrn pulled us out of a trap!”

Alistair shouted, “The teyrn left the king to die!” Sereda wondered if she was the only one who could hear the tremor in his voice.

“The Wardens led the king to his death,” the commander spat, climbing to his feet when it became clear he wasn’t to be executed. “The teyrn could do nothing!”

Sereda swiped his leg out from under him, too furious to refute his words more reasonably. _Perhaps if we just explained the truth_ … She knew it was no use, but diplomacy was too deeply ingrained to simply ignore the inclination. She brought her dagger to the commander’s throat, her lips quirking into a smile as he gulped nervously.

“Take a message to Loghain.”

“What do you want to tell him,” the commander asked with trepidation.

Sereda leaned in close, her blue eyes locking with this brutish human’s brown ones. “The Grey Wardens know what _really_ happened.”

He nodded enthusiastically, scrambling away and pulling his comrades with him. The tavern patrons turned back to their drinks and soon the musicians were playing a jaunty tune. Sereda’s muscles still bunched through her legs, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Perhaps they hadn’t stayed as inconspicuous as they’d planned…

Their new comrade smoothed her dress and turned to the trio with a bright smile. “I apologize for interfering, but I couldn’t just sit by and not help.”

“We’re grateful for it, Sister,” Alistair said with a reverent bow.

“Let me introduce myself properly. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the chantry here in Lothering. Or I was…” She trailed off with a dreamy look in her eyes, and Sereda took the pause to bow.

“I am Sereda and this Alistair and Morrigan. A pleasure.” Morrigan scoffed and Alistair opened his mouth to retort; Sereda headed off the argument with a glare.

“Those men said you’re a Grey Warden. You will be battling the darkspawn, no? That is what Grey Wardens do?” When they didn’t answer, only exchanging furtive glances, Leliana continued, “I know after what happened you’ll need all the help you can get. That’s why I’m coming along.”

Sereda scrutinized the woman’s face. She seemed sincere enough, and she’d helped them against Loghain’s soldiers… But the blazing sun on the woman’s chest gave her pause.

“And just what help would you be to me?” 

Leliana’s smile faded into a soft, faraway gaze. “The Maker told me to join you,” she asserted with earnest. “Surely He would not do so without good reason.”

It was Sereda's turn to scoff and roll her eyes. “Even if I believed that, why should I care what your god wants?”

“He is not just _my_ god. The Maker has love for all! I… I know you may not believe, but I had a dream… a vision!”

“More crazy?” Alistair whispered, taking Sereda’s arm and pulling her closer. “I thought we were all full up.”

“Look at all the people here. They are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos—it will spread! The Maker doesn’t want this.” Leliana rushed forward, kneeling to Sereda’s height. “What you do, what you are _meant_ to do, is the Maker’s work. Let me help!”

Sereda grimaced as she considered. Leliana certainly had skill with weapons, and her sky blue eyes looked sincere enough. But her fool notion that the humans’ god was telling her to help them gave Sereda more than a little trepidation. She wasn’t sure she could stand to be told she was some hero for a nonsensical religion. Still, she and Alistair were set to an impossible task; they couldn’t afford to alienate those willing to aid them.

“Very well. I will not turn away help when it is offered.”

Leliana shot up and clapped excitedly, her cheer infectious. Soon Sereda was grinning too with buoyed spirits, even as Alistair and Morrigan glared at her. _Perhaps this won’t be so hard after all_ , Sereda thought, brushing aside broken glass with her boot and leading her growing army out of the tavern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I know it's been a while, but this was another chapter that just didn't want to happen! Getting back on track though and I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, obsessed over, and loved.


	16. Chapter 16

Their motley crew left the tavern, Morrigan and Leliana eyeing one another with suspicion. Sereda grimaced as she observed the obviously brewing tension, but for now she turned her attention to Alistair.

“I got a few tents and some bread. With Morrigan hunting, we should be well set until we reach Redcliffe.” She handed him the supplies and he rustled through it with a grin.

“Excellent! Now all we need is an army of Grey Wardens and we’re done!” Alistair clapped her on the shoulder with a laugh as he headed back toward the center of town.

“Should we not be on our way, Wardens?” Morrigan gestured to the fields that led back to the Imperial Highway with an inquiring brow.

Sereda agreed, there was no reason to tarry, but Alistair and Leliana both moved toward town. “Perhaps we should go to the Chantry first, seek blessings from the Maker,” Leliana suggested. Alistair nodded vehemently.

Sereda knew she had to be more diplomatic than just giving a peal of laughter, so she replied patiently, “Morrigan can’t go into the chantry, she’s an apostate. They’ll lock her up as soon as they see her.” _And I have no need of blessings from your Maker_.

Alistair shrugged with a chuckle as if to ask who would care, and Morrigan jerked forward, finger pointing. “Just because _you_ do not believe mages are people does _not_ mean that I am of no use to you! My mother would not have sent me along if she believed I would be simply scooped up and sent to whatever circle was nearest!”

Sereda stepped towards them with placating hands, but Alistair was already shouting back, “I do too believe mages are people! I just think they belong in the circles, where they can learn _safely_ and away from the rest of us!”

“Oh, so the imprisonment is to our benefit?” Morrigan and Alistair were nearly nose to nose, their faces a mirrored pool of rage. Sereda could see the argument was drawing the attention of the townspeople, and she squished between their bodies and pushed them apart.

She hissed as she stared down one after the other, “Morrigan’s going to get taken away regardless if you two keep it up. Alistair, you and Leliana can go to the Chantry. Morrigan and I will head towards the road and wait for you there. Agreed?”

They both muttered their agreements, Sereda was sure Alistair included some cursing in his, and the pairs parted on their respective paths.

Morrigan walked next to the Warden, looking down with crinkled eyes. “Thank you, Sereda. ‘Tis no easy task to lead a group such as this, I’m sure.”

Sereda sighed. “No, it isn’t. Sorry for Alistair, he shouldn’t treat you the way he does.”

“I can’t say I’m not used to it. Most people around the Wilds have little patience for anything different than what they know.”

“Still,” Sereda stopped in her tracks, Morrigan looking down at her with a sad smile. “I’ll talk to him later. We’re all working together to stop the Blight, he needs to understand that.”

“I… I appreciate that, Sereda.” The witch strode off and Sereda knew that was as heartfelt as that moment would get.

A strange metal cage caught her eye as they left the town, but not as much as its occupant did. A giant man stood within it, Sereda was sure he was a head taller than Alistair at least, with stark white hair braided tight against his scalp and pointed ears. He stood ramrod straight behind the bars, eyes following the passersby but mouth held tightly shut. Sereda pulled Morrigan back, pointing at the strange sight.

“What’s going on there?” _Is this some strange human custom? Do all towns have a giant caged man at their gates?_

“He’s a qunari, it seems.” She squinted and drawled, “And certainly in some sort of trouble.”

“I thought qunari had horns.” The drawings in her books back in Orzammar always showed the giant islanders with magnificent horns curling from their heads.

Morrigan shrugged. “Some do not. We should not bother him regardless.”

They found a shady spot near the road and plopped down. Sereda picked at the blades of grass, thinking of the strange qunari in the cage. _Would they release him before the Blight reached Lothering?_ The worried faces and hunched shoulders of the townspeople told Sereda that they knew the darkspawn were coming, but did they know their true destructive power? If the horde had utterly destroyed the Grey Wardens and all the king’s men, how would a village fair against it? _How would one man in a cage fair?_ She flicked her eyes to Morrigan, hoping for more answers, but the witch had shut her eyes and was fast headed to sleep.

Sereda felt her own eyelids beginning to drift downward, the coupling of the warm afternoon sun and the generous shade inspiring the drowsy feeling, until a twinkling laugh woke her. Leliana and Alistair stood before them, Salroka at their heels, all three smiling down at the sleeping pair.

“I’m glad to see you both can rest even with the world crashing down around us,” Alistair quipped, helping Sereda to her feet. When he offered his hand to Morrigan, she glared from the ground, but scrambled up regardless when Salroka went to lick her face.

“Did you see that qunari?” Sereda queried, though her cheeks went pink as she saw the man watching them.

Leliana shifted from one foot to another, silent, but she nodded. Sereda felt a strange stirring of unease in her gut and she marched toward the cage.

The creature glared down at her when she stopped short of him, speaking in a deep, slow, tone, “You aren’t one of my captors. I have nothing to say that would amuse a dwarf. Leave me in peace.”

Sereda paid no attention to the jolt of ire that went through her. “Who are you?”

“A prisoner,” he quipped. “I’m in a cage, am I not? I’ve been placed here by the Chantry.”

The rest of Sereda’s merry band had arrived, and all eyes went to Leliana, still in her sunburst robes. “The revered mother said he slaughtered an entire farmhold. Even the children,” she whispered, eyes downturned.

The creature nodded. Without shame, he said, “It is as she says. I am Sten of the Beresaad—the vanguard—of the qunari peoples.”

Sereda was unsure what to say, so she bowed. “I am Sereda. Pleased to meet you?” She didn’t intend for it to finish as a question, but the glower Sten gave her was confusing.

“You mock me… Or you show manners I have not come to expect in these lands.” Sten crossed his arms and shrugged. “Though it matters little, now. I will die soon enough. The Blight is coming.”

Morrigan came forward motioning to the cage with shaking hands. “This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for the darkspawn! If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy’s sake alone.”

“Mercy?” Alistair scoffed. “I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

Morrigan gave him a wicked grin. “I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage.”

Sereda rolled her eyes but Alistair laughed. “Yes, _that’s_ what I would have expected.”

Sten spoke over them, a timbre of annoyance added to his voice, “ _I_ suggest you leave me to my fate.”

“Are you guilty?” Thoughts of her own imprisonment and banishment flooded her. _You can be convicted of anything without having done it_. She hoped it was the case for this Sten.

Sten looked down at her with narrowed eyes. “Are you asking if I feel guilt, or if I am responsible for the deed?” Before she could answer, he went on, “However I feel, whatever I’ve done, my life is forfeit now.”

Alistair called from behind her, “If you feel so guilty about it, why did you do it?” Sereda turned to give him a look and saw the defiant set to his brow.

“Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to know nothing of regret.” Alistair’s eyebrows knit together and he was silent, pondering Sten’s words.

Leliana had crept forward, a gentle hand going to Sereda's shoulder. She ignored the sister's silent plea and asked, “How long have you been here?”

He took a moment to think before replying, casually, “Twenty days, now. I shouldn’t last much longer. Another week at most.”

“That’s a long time to live without food or water,” Sereda said with narrowed eyes. Had he really just been sitting in this cage for over a fortnight, with nothing to sustain him? She had hardly lasted a few days in the Deep Roads before the hunger began to take its toll.

“Compared to your kind, maybe.” He said it with the same stoicism as he did everything else. Sereda was sure now that Sten was not one to mince words.

She had opened her mouth to ask another question when Morrigan beat her to the punch, “Capturing you must have been difficult.” Everyone, including Sten, glared at the appreciative note in her voice.

“There is no difficulty in capturing prey that surrenders.”

“You didn’t resist capture?” Sereda remembered how the guards dragged her to the prison, how one of them had stomped down on her arm with a grin… She couldn’t imagine allowing them to take her away from her family and home. Then again, _she_ had been innocent…

“I waited for several days until the knights arrived.”

“Why?”

“Because I wished to,” Sten said, as if it was the most obvious choice in the world. They all fell silent, no one sure how to proceed.

Sereda’s head spun. She thought unwillingly of the Deep Roads, the gnawing hunger, the oppressive silence… Her mind began to swim as the image of the dead deepstalkers came to her, and she shut her eyes tightly to center herself. _I’m all right, I’m all right_ , she told herself, concentrating on the Stone beneath their feet until she was able to open her eyes again. She looked at Sten’s face, calm and angry at the same time. _How can I leave him here?_ A more apt question came to mind, one she tried to fight away. _How could they leave me there?_ The fields around her disappeared and were replaced by the Stone, closing in to swallow her up. She gulped and balled her hands into fists, fingers pressing into her palms hard enough to draw blood. The pain pulled her back and she prayed that her companions hadn’t noticed.

She could give Sten the choice Duncan presented her, a way out. “Are you interested in seeking atonement?” She blurted it out, surprising Alistair most of all. He took her arm, head shaking and mouth opening to espouse a dozen reasons why it was a bad idea, but Sten headed him off.

“Death will be my atonement.”

“So, you would prefer to die?” Sereda could hear the shake in her voice, she could feel the tears threatening to fall, but she could not let it go, could not let _Sten_ go until she understood. _How can one chose death over a chance at life?_

Sten huffed, seemingly taken aback. “I would prefer to die in battle, but my choices have been made.”

Again unbidden, she thought of the Deep Roads. She was supposed to die in battle... She shook the thoughts from her head. _This is different_ , she lied. “You could help us defend the land against the Blight.”

“Sereda!” Alistair grabbed her in earnest, but she ignored his objections.

“The Blight? Are you a Grey Warden, then?” Sten leaned forward in the cage, his hands wrapping around the iron bars.

“Yes, I am,” Sereda said, pulling her head high and straightening her back. She realized it was the first time she had said it with pride. The vial of blood at her throat hummed and for once it did not set her nerves on edge.

Sten eyed her armor, the dagger at her hip, one of his white eyebrows lowering. “Surprising. My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens’ strength and skill… though I suppose not every legend is true.”

Sereda glared. She would have said she had changed her mind, but she couldn’t. “Would the revered mother let you free?”

Leliana went to the cage and shook her head. “The revered mother was very adamant about his staying here. The other sisters and I tried to get her to change her mind when the knights returned with him, but she would not budge.” She looked at the qunari, concern wrinkling her brow. “To be left here to starve, or to be taken by the darkspawn… no one deserves that, not even a murderer.”

The tears Sereda had been fighting rebelled and flowed down her cheeks. She turned swiftly and wiped at them, taking a moment to breathe deeply enough to halt their movement. She would have to tell them all eventually what had happened to her… _Not yet_. She didn’t want the looks of pity they were all sending towards Sten.

The caged qunari spoke, some of the flint gone form his voice, “If you free me, do you expect me to go with you?”

She considered it. Neither she nor Alistair knew the intricacies of the Joining; she couldn’t keep him as a Warden. So it would have to be his choice whether he left or stayed. “Only if you’re willing.”

Sten leaned back, eyes sharp on her face. They stood in silent appraisal for a time, until Sten stood to his full height with a nod. “Then I will follow you, if you release me.”

The revered mother wouldn't let him free and the cage was too sturdy to force it open. Sereda looked to her companions; Alistair with a disbelieving glare, Leliana with downturned eyes, and Morrigan with half a wry smile. Perhaps they didn't all want Sten freed, but they certainly would have to help her. “What can we do, then? Break the lock?”

Alistair went to the bars, shaking them vigorously. He did the same for the lock, grunting in effort when nothing gave. “Unless Morrigan knows some sort of charm that undoes a lock without a key, I’ve got nothing.

Morrigan shook her head and sneered, “There is no such spell, nitwit. Magic is about harnessing the forces of nature, not allowing idiots into locked rooms.”

Leliana grinned and reached into her pack, producing odd bits of metal. “I can take a look at it.” She knelt to the ground, her hands deftly swirling the instruments in and around the lock. Sereda crept closer to watch.

“What are you doing?” Clicks emanated from the lock as Leliana worked. She looked up at Sereda with a bright smile.

“I’m picking the lock. I’ll have him out in no time!” Sereda watched in amazement as, with one final twist, the lock sprang open. _How does a lay sister know how to pick a lock,_ Sereda asked Alistair silently. He replied with a wide-eyed shrug. The sister stepped back and Sten cautiously pushed open the cage door.

“And so it is done,” he said with the closest sound to happiness he had offered in his voice. He knelt at Sereda’s feet, a fist over his heart. “I will follow you into battle. In doing do, I shall find my atonement.”

“And what if I don’t lead you to your atonement?” The responsibility weighed on her.  _Is this a good idea? Have I just released a monster on Ferelden?_

Sten looked up at her, and she noticed for the first time the striking violet of his eyes. “Then I will find it myself.”

It was settled, then, and Sten stood, towering over Sereda even higher than she’d imagined possible. She thought back to the swords they’d sold and asked, hoping, “Do you have any armor or weapons of your own?”

Sten turned toward the cage and back to Sereda, not bothering to voice any further reply. _All right, so we’ll need to find him a sword and some armor as well._ Another thing for the list. She wondered when how they would ever get it all done.

They looked to her, and her years training to be a commander kicked in. “Let’s be on our way, then. We need to get as far away from the Blight as we can before nightfall,” Sereda said with the hope her voice sounded firm enough to broker no argument. There was no dissent; Alistair led them off, walking toward the road with a determined stride. Sereda walked at the back of the group, chuckling as Salroka hopped alongside their newest companion, and she even smiled when Alistair slowed to walk beside her.

“Is this really such a good idea? A murderous qunari and a lay sister that somehow knows how to pick locks?” He whispered, his eyes crinkled in concern. She looked up at him and sighed, shrugging.

“I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. But we need to get to Redcliffe and convince Arl Eamon to help us. Having a Chantry sister, even one of dubious background it seems, will help us.”

“That reminds me,” Alistair said, snapping his fingers. “One of Eamon’s knights was in the chantry!”

“What did he say? Did you tell him of our mission?”

He started off quickly, but sorrow crept in with each word, “Ser Donall was there, praying at one of the altars. He told us that Arl Eamon is gravely ill, that he has been for weeks. They haven’t been able to find a cure, and the healers don’t know what’s wrong. It seems pretty desperate; he said that Arlessa Isolde has sent every knight in Redcliffe in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes.”

“What’s that?” It tugged something in her memory, but Sereda couldn’t quite place it.

“Andraste’s ashes are said to cure any illness. Legend says they lay somewhere in the Frostbacks, waiting for pious travelers to find them.” Alistair shook his head, forlorn. “Ser Donall said that he had hoped the chantry library would have something to help him, but they had little luck.”

“Shouldn’t he be fleeing? Shouldn’t everyone be leaving Lothering? The darkspawn are coming!”

Alistair gave her a wan smile. “I said as much to him, but he said his mission takes priority.”

A thought occurred to her when she thought of the convenient timing of the arl’s illness. Duncan hadn’t known Eamon was sick when they spoke to the king at Ostagar, but perhaps Loghain did… “Do you think Loghain is involved with the arl’s illness?”

Alistair rubbed his forehead with a huff. “The arl fell ill before Cailan died, but what if Loghain planned that, too?” 

They both considered it, stomachs twisting with dread. How far would Loghain go to seize control? She knew the humans saw him as a hero, but he seemed only villain to Sereda in this moment.

Shouts from the road drew their attention, and the party ran forward. A small group of darkspawn were advancing on a caravan, the scared merchants huddled between their crates. Sten rushed in, picking up one hurlock as easily as one would lift a sack of feathers and tossed it into another. Leliana and Alistair joined the fray as well, while Morrigan began to cast from the rear. Salroka went to the merchants, protecting them from an advancing genlock. Sereda, meanwhile stood back in awe as her companions quickly killed the blighters. _This is a good team_ , she thought with pride, her heart lifting.

As Alistair and Sten stripped the dead creatures of their weapons, Sereda went to check on the merchants, her jaw dropping open as they stood up. Two dwarves faced her, the elder’s face breaking into a bright smile as she approached.

“Mighty timely arrival there, my friend. We’re much obliged!” He held out his hand and Sereda shook it, her mind rushing to some sort of conclusion. _Are they surfacers? Do they know who I am?_

Before she could reply, the man went on, “The name’s Bodahn Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur. This here is my son, Sandal. Say hello, my boy.”

The boy’s wide grin matched his father’s and he waved at them all. “Hello!”

“Road’s been mighty dangerous these days. Mind if I ask what brings you out here?” Bodahn tacked on the last part hopefully, “Perhaps we’re going the same way?”

Sereda hesitated. The idea of two dwarves traveling with them, if only for a time, was enticing. Maybe they had news of Orzammar… She looked at her companions, busy amongst the dead. A caravan would slow them down and draw more attention. If Arl Eamon was as sick as this Ser Donall said, they needed to move quickly.

“I doubt you want to travel with a Grey Warden,” she said lightly, motioning to herself. The dwarves’ eyes went wide.

“Grey Wardens, hmm? My, that does rather explain a lot.” He laid a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder and sighed. “No offense, my lady, but I suspect there’s more excitement on your path than my boy and I can handle. Allow me to bid you farewell and good fortune, though.” He bowed and motioned for his son to do the same.

“Goodbye!” Sandal said, smiling as he straightened.

Sereda returned the bow, her heart sinking again. “Atrast tunsha” she said, turning back to her companions with a determined stride.

Alistair perked up when she approached, stepping over a genlock corpse to her side. He handed her a dagger, veridium with a small brown stone inlaid in the hilt. It was coated with black-blue blood, but otherwise a solid piece. She turned it over and examined it appreciatively.

“Do you think it could get a sovereign or two? I can ask the merchant—”

“No, it’s for you,” Alistair interrupted, his cheeks going pink. “I saw it and I thought you would like it…”

She opened her mouth to reply, but found herself struck silent. It wasn’t the nicest blade she’d ever seen, but it was surely the best among the group. She smiled up at him, his face relaxing into his own grin. “Thank you, Alistair. That’s very thoughtful.” She slid it into the sheath her sword had occupied, tension leaving her shoulders at the familiar weight. She would have preferred a sword, but two daggers were certainly better than one.

He let out a sigh of relief and they rounded up their growing group. Sereda was glad to see Sten was outfitted with a longsword, if not any armor, and Leliana slung a bow across her back. Morrigan stood furthest from them, leaning on her staff with an impatient glare and a hand resting on Salroka’s head.

“Let’s move on, everyone,” Sereda called, starting down the highway again. “We’ll follow the road until dusk and then set up camp.”

They followed her without complaint and Sereda smiled to herself. _This is actually going well_ , she thought, looking at each of her companions in turn. Alistair and Morrigan were at the back, the Warden bent over some black sludge on the side of the road with Morrigan chiding him above. Leliana hummed a tune to herself and Sereda was sure if she wasn’t spattered with blood, the woman would be skipping. Sten walked in the very back, Salroka still vying for his attention, with a glower. Five of them, six including the warhound; it was a solid group. Sereda began to think of strategies, ways to arrange themselves if the fighting grew thick…

Alistair was at her side again, cheeks flushed in the midday sun and a faraway look to his eyes. They walked together in silence until Sereda felt the need to speak, if only to fill the strange quiet of the road.

“I’d like to ask you something.” She looked at her fellow Grey Warden, who shook himself as if from sleep when she spoke.

“Ask away.”

“So, how do you know this Arl Eamon? Redcliffe is far, and I want to make sure we’re doing the right thing in going to him.”

Alistair rubbed his neck and chuckled nervously. “Did I say I knew him?”

Sereda nodded slowly, eyebrows coming together. “Yes, you said he was a good man. It seemed as though you knew him personally…”

“All right, yes I know him. He sort of… raised me. Until I went to the Chantry! And no, he is _not_ my father.”

_He raised him_. It seemed an odd way to phrase it. Sereda gave him a quizzical look and Alistair sighed, the grimace starting to relax from his face. “He took me in as a baby, and believe me, I’ve heard all the theories. Look, I only lived in Redcliffe until I was ten, then I went to Bournshire.”

Sereda was unsure how to respond so she nodded quickly and turned her eyes back to the road. It was an odd fact to leave out, in her opinion, but she was hardly one to talk. She knew soon her companions would want to know where she came from, and when she said Orzammar, surely they would want ask how she came to the surface…

_That’s a concern for another time_ , she thought as she fell back to save Morrigan from Leliana’s bright chatter. After she had arbitrarily sent Leliana ahead to see to Sten, Sereda turned to take one last glance at the small village, its windmill casting shallow shadows in the bright sunlight. The Blight would be coming for them soon enough, and then upwards and outwards until it consumed all of Thedas. She sighed and shook her head, heart sinking. They had to move on to Redcliffe if they hoped to defeat the darkspawn, she knew, but it felt cowardly to leave the villagers to fend for themselves. She shut her eyes and prayed to the Stone. _Let this be the right course._ Alistair called her name and Sereda returned to the world with a sigh. _Otherwise, we’re all doomed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On to Redcliffe from here! My how the story flies! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, obsessed over, and loved.


	17. Chapter 17

Sereda was soaring high above, the shrieks and screams below her distant horrors. The dragon was near, though, its decayed jaws parting to spray fire and lightning over its troops. Sereda tried to fight it, tried to get away, but her struggle sent her tumbling to the ground with the teeming masses, genlocks and hurlocks holding their torches and swords with jeering faces. She wanted to run, to scramble to safety, but she was frozen, her eyes locked with the archdemon’s in a never-ending spiral towards death—

She awoke with a start, eyes flying open and body jerking. She was in camp, or at least in the clearing they had used to make a camp, and it was the middle of the night. She looked about her and her heart beat started to slow as she saw the white canvas of her companions’ tents and the flickering fire casting long shadows onto the trees. Alistair had chivalrously given Leliana and Morrigan two of the tents, and Sereda had given the last to Sten. She had wanted to watch the stars, but fell asleep as soon as her head touched the ground. _At least I can watch now_. She had the distinct sense sleep wouldn’t return easily.

She wandered away from her bedroll, telling Salroka to stay put when it tried to follow, and headed to the edge of the clearing. She sat, the cool grass caressing her legs, and leaned back, watching the stars twinkle high above her as she willed her body to relax. Her fingers went to her necklace, stroking the smooth glass vial. It was strangely becoming soothing to feel its weight against her skin, to feel it’s hum reverberate in her bones.

“Bad dreams, huh?” She turned at Alistair’s voice, low and soft as the grass beneath her. He sat beside her, adopting her posture with eyes on the heavens.

She sighed. “It seemed so real…”

“Well it is real, sort of.” Sereda’s confused features prompted him to continue. “You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That’s what your dreams are. You’re hearing them. The archdemon it… ‘talks’ to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That’s why we know this is really a Blight.”

Sereda shivered, recalling its dead eyes and rotting flesh. “How do you… How does anyone deal with such dreams?” She did not grow up with nightmares and ghouls like other races did. She’d never woken in the middle of the night, clutching her bedsheets and calling for her parents. The dwarves did not dream. The idea alone of having visions while she slept was strange enough, but to contend with a connection to the darkspawn within them?

“It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the darkspawn a bit and that helps them, but I sure can’t.”

He looked at her, his face illuminated by the far-off camp fire. “Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary at first for me, too.”

Her hand found his and she squeezed it appreciatively. “Thank you, Alistair.” He returned the affection and pulled away, lying down to better view the sky.

“That’s what I’m here for. To deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners.”

Sereda laughed, clapping a hand to her mouth as it echoed against the trees. “I’ll just call you Duncan,” she whispered with a latent giggle. Alistair’s face fell, and Sereda kicked herself. _Why’d you bring him up?_

The silence began to stretch as Sereda watched Alistair, his face turned from hers. She had the sneaking suspicion he was trying not to cry. “Do you want to talk about him?”

“You don’t have to do that,” he snapped. She chewed her lip, regretting even saying the commander’s name, but Alistair amended, softer, “I know you didn’t know him as long as I did.”

Her mind flashed to their embrace before Ostagar. “He was like a father to you. I understand.”

Alistair sighed and sat up, turning to face her. “I… should be handling it better. Duncan warned me right from the beginning that this could happen. Any of us could die in battle. I shouldn’t be so… _fixated_ on it, not when so much is riding on us, not with the Blight and… and everything. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his face vigorously and Sereda’s heart sank to see the glimmer of tears on his cheeks. She laid a hand on his knee.

“There’s no need to apologize.” _Especially since I’ve been crying off and on since I left Orzammar._ Did he not see how hard she was trying to keep it together?

He took a shuddering breath and looked up, calm returning to his face. “I’d… like to have a proper funeral for him. Maybe once this is all done, if we’re still alive. I don’t think he had any family to speak of.”

“He had you,” she said softly. Alistair laid his hand over hers with a smile.

“I suppose he did. It probably sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I was with him. In the battle… I feel like I abandoned him, somehow.”

Sereda thought of her mother, lying in her grand bed, too weak to raise her head. She felt that same guilt, knowing that the sickness sweeping through the Commons had skipped her and found the queen instead. “No, I understand completely.” 

They were silent, the sounds of the forest filling up the space between them. Alistair spoke first. “I think he came from Highever, or so he said. Maybe I’ll go up out there sometime, see about putting up something in his honor. I don’t know.”

He met her eyes and she smiled, unable to help it. Something about his gaze made her feel… she wasn’t quite sure how to describe it, but _safe_ got closest. It had been some time since she’d felt safe.

Alistair laid back down and asked with a note of curiosity, “Dwarves don’t practice cremation, do they? How do your people honor your dead?”

“We entomb our dead within the stone beneath our thaigs.” Another flicker of her mother, face as blank as the Stone and skin paler than a deepstalker. Sereda’s fingers brushed her mother’s cheek, hoping to see them wrinkle in a smile just once more. Now she was surrounded by the Stone, smiling far below her…

Alistair’s reply brought her back. “I… heard about that, now that I think about it. Their spirits return to the rock, strengthening the foundation of the thaig? It sounds so strange.”

She narrowed her eyes and shrugged. She could see the rock moving to cover her mother’s coffin one last time as clearly as she could see Alistair in front of her… Trying to keep the venom from her voice, she replied, “No stranger than burning your honored dead to ashes.”

Alistair nodded, and she was unsure whether he was ignoring her tone or simply not hearing it. “I suppose you’re right.”

He squeezed her hand again, still gentle on his knee. “Thank you. Really, I mean it. It was good to talk about it, at least a little.”

She thought of Duncan, really considered him for the first time since Ostagar. She was so furious at him for not warning her about the Joining, and then he was gone from her life as suddenly as he’d come into it. When all was said and done, though, he had saved her. He rescued her from the Deep Roads, no judgment or pretense, and given her a new life, a new purpose. _Perhaps he doesn’t deserve my fury any more._ “Maybe I’ll go to Highever with you, when you go.”

Alistair’s turned his face to hers with a soft smile, eyes twinkling like the stars above. “I’d like that. So would he, I think.”

He stood, offering her a hand to help her up. “You think you can manage a few more hours of sleep before we move on?” He didn’t let go of her hand and Sereda noted her heart had started to beat faster again.

She nodded and pulled away reluctantly, heading back to her makeshift bed without a backwards glance. A rustling in the trees caught her eye and she strode forward, her hands going to where her daggers should have been. _Damn it!_ She’d left them beneath the sack that was serving as her pillow. Sereda stooped and felt around for some sort of weapon, fingers wrapping around a large stick. It would have to do. A twig snapped in the trees and she straightened. _Darkspawn, perhaps_? She still didn’t sense them, but surely Alistair would have warned them… She crept towards the noise with her stick raised, ready to attack—

Two dwarves burst through the trees and Sereda dropped her stick to cover her shriek of surprise. Bodahn and Sandal gave her matching grins, though the elder Feddic’s was more sheepish than friendly.

“Ah! It’s good to see you, my timely rescuer! Bodahn Feddic at your service once again.” He bowed and nudged his son to do the same.

“What… what are you…”

“Well, I saw your camp and thought to myself, ‘What safer place to rest for the evening than in the camp of a Grey Warden?’” Before she could reply, if she had even had one, Bodahn continued, “I’m perfectly willing to offer you a fine discount for the inconvenience of our presence. How does that sound? Good?”

Sereda found herself smiling and nodding, despite her reservations. Even if Bodahn and Sandal turned out to be a liability, it was comforting to have two dwarves about her. She felt much less alone. “You’re free to stay. Just mind yourselves. And first sign of trouble, you both hide, you understand?”

Bodahn clapped his hands together with a hoot of joy. “Wonderful! Thank the kind lady, won’t you, boy!”

“Thank you, kind lady,” Sandal said with his trademark smile.

“We won’t be a bother to you and your companions, I assure you. We’ll turn in for the evening, but tomorrow come find us if you need enchantments or goods!” The Feddics disappeared back into the trees and Sereda smiled after them.

She returned to her bedroll and flopped to the ground with a sigh. Salroka sniffed her hair and settled beside her with a ‘woof’ and began to snore. She giggled and looked up to watch the stars winking and blinking at her from high above. Her eyelids began to feel heavy again and she drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

She was awoken by the first tendrils of dawn on her face. She helped pack up the camp, a task relatively without incident. Sten stomped around and remarked to any who would listen that the Feddics were unnecessary and like to get them all killed, though, until Sereda fixed him with a stare. They were on the road before the sun was fully in the sky.

“It’ll be about four days from here to Redcliffe; that’s factoring in camping for the night along the way.” Alistair pulled out a map he’d borrowed from Bodahn, pointing out their path to Sereda. “I’m not sure what Eamon will say when we get there, or if he’ll be _able_ to say anything, but it would make sense to head up to Orzammar after and work our way back south—”

“Not Orzammar,” Sereda blurted, her cheeks starting to burn when Alistair’s face rearranged in confusion. “I…” _I’m not welcome there, my father banished me, I was accused of murdering my brother_ … She wasn’t ready to share quite that much personal detail with Alistair and the others. She studied the map, hoping for salvation by way of strategy.

“Here,” she pointed to Lake Calenhad, “It might benefit us to sail for the Circle Tower after. Maybe Morrigan could stay behind…” Sereda sighed with relief when Alistair nodded.

“Hopefully we can ask Eamon what he thinks our next move should be, but that sounds like a good plan to me!” He threw an arm around her shoulder and laughed. “Look at us! The Fereldan Grey Wardens formulating a plan!”

She glanced up at him and grinned, her heart fluttering when he beamed down at her. They were _doing_ it! She could hardly believe it; outside of Flemeth’s hut it had seemed the impossible task. But here they were, on the road to Redcliffe, a band of warriors accompanied by merchants and a warhound. Things were looking up.

The words had hardly percolated in her mind when a great rumble came from above. She looked about wildly, expecting the archdemon, noting with flushed cheeks that the others appeared pleased. In fact, Alistair took a deep breath and looked to the sky.

“It looks like rain!” Alistair said excitedly, the gentle breeze of the morning transforming into a forceful wind rushing through his hair. He stepped away and spun about, nearly giddy.

Sereda noticed for the first time that the blue she’d come to expect during the day was more a deepening grey. Clouds stretched as far as the eye could see. “Rain… Right.” _So much to remember. Rain was the one with water?_

“My lady,” Bodahn jogged up, breathlessly pointing to the sky. “It’d be best if my boy and I pulled off the road and waited the storm out. These roads turn impossible with even the lightest rain.”

Sereda nodded, only understanding a bit of what he said and turned to Salroka. “Stay with them, protect them. Find us when it’s safe?” Salroka gave a short bark and nuzzled her hand before following the Feddics off the road into the brush.

Her companions still headed down the trail and Sereda followed with skepticism. _If the Feddics are waiting out this rain, shouldn’t we?_ The sky grumbled above her, and then the strange phenomenon of rain began.

The rain was the worst part of the surface, she was sure. _How is this possible?_ She could understand water in the ground, there were massive lakes in the Deep Roads even, unspoiled by the Blight, but water falling from the sky? Her only consolation was the clouds themselves; the cool greys and blues looked like the Stone to her. Sereda huddled close to Alistair, eyes trained to the sky under suspicious brows. She flinched each time a droplet hit her face. The others were amused by it, though they had the good graces to not say, while Alistair had a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Never been in the rain before?”

She shook her head angrily, futilely wiping the water from her face. It was soon replaced and she scowled. Alistair chuckled.

“Trust me, you’ll appreciate it when we’ve been on the road for a week with no baths.” He turned his face up towards the rain with a wide grin. “Besides, this is a nice little storm. It could be worse.”

“It gets worse?!” She couldn’t imagine how.

Alistair laughed more heartily and returned his arm to her shoulder. He pulled her in tightly and murmured, “I’ll protect you, don’t you worry.”

She pursed her lips and glared, no heat behind it. They pressed forward, Sereda eventually shaking Alistair off to trail the group in sullen silence. She hadn’t expected to enjoy the bright sunshine, but the absence felt… wrong. Leliana tried to cheer her up with a song, but Sereda waved her off. She wanted to sulk.

Her stomach clenched as she glowered; they hadn’t any breakfast and Morrigan said the rain would make it difficult to hunt for lunch. The rain grew heavier as she imagined nug roasts and hearty mushroom stew, Sereda’s heart beating a hair faster. _Is this as bad as it gets?_ She was already soaked from head to toe, her braids diverting water from her head to her back. She shivered. _Ancestors,_ she started a prayer but stopped. How could the Ancestors stop the rain? None of them had even seen it.

Though they had enjoyed it at the start, the weather was getting to everyone. They’d been on the road a few hours in the downpour, and patience was fraying. Sereda caught bits and pieces of her comrades’ bickering; Leliana snapped at Sten when he insisted the Maker wasn’t real, Alistair and Morrigan were fighting about her mother, and Sten ignored Alistair’s many attempts to connect. The joviality of the morning was fast disappearing. Sereda glared at each raindrop, a seemingly impossible task, and stomped behind Alistair and Morrigan with a sunken mood.

“I have a wonder, Alistair,” Morrigan’s words reach Sereda through the rain. “If you will indulge me?”

Alistair sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

Morrigan continued, giving Sereda the distinct impression that he did _not_ , “Of the two of you that remain, are you not the senior Grey Warden here?” Alistair didn’t respond and Sereda found herself hastening her steps to intervene. “I find it curious that you allow another to lead, while you follow.”

Alistair strode ahead, but Morrigan matched his steps. “You find that curious, do you?” Sereda could hear the venom even from behind them.

“In fact,” Morrigan said, louder, goading, “you _defer_ to a new recruit. Is this a policy of the Grey Wardens? Or simply a personal one?”

He stopped in his tracks, whirling to face Morrigan. Sereda was surprised at the anger twisting his features and found herself rooted as well, ignoring the rain for the moment. “What do you want to hear?” He nearly shouted it. “That I prefer to follow? I do!”

Morrigan gave a look of mock surprise, her yellow eyes widening. “You sound so very defensive.”

_I should really stop this_ , Sereda thought, anger replacing the dread that had seeped through her. _But,_ she argued with herself, _they will never get over this animosity if they don’t have it out_. She looked to Sten and Leliana, neither rushing to insert themselves. She would follow their example, she decided, watching the argument with an arched brow. She could not be the perennial peacekeeper.

Alistair crossed his arms over his armored chest and hissed, “Couldn’t you crawl into a bush somewhere and die? That would be great.”

Morrigan mirrored his posture. She sneered, “And so the templar’s true feelings are revealed. ‘Mages should all just die!’ How very like Andraste’s merciful heart!”

“Not all mages, just you!”

She threw up her arms. “Why do you hate me so? What ever have I done to offend you? Beyond my very _being_ I cannot fathom how I have wronged you!” It was not a piteous plea for understanding but a furious missive.

“Maybe it’s the prodding and poking! Or the scoffs and eye rolls and sleeping as far from the rest of us as you can because you’re just so above it all!” Alistair pointed an accusing finger. “I could list a hundred reasons to hate you, _witch_.”

Morrigan’s hand went to her staff, her fingers beginning to glow. Sereda jerked forward as Morrigan shouted, “Let us just finish it then, fool!”

“I won’t let you cast any spell, if that’s your intention,” Alistair warned, words dropped an octave lower. Morrigan rolled her eyes, opening her mouth defiantly. Alistair sighed and shut his eyes, motioning towards her with upturned palm. Morrigan gasped and fell to her knee in the mud.

“How—how dare you!” Sereda looked between them, unsure what transpired.

Alistair gave a cocky laugh, hand going to his sword. “Oh that? Just something the templars learn to deal with mages getting too big for their britches.”

Morrigan fumed and pulled herself up by her staff, recovering quickly enough to hurl a fist of stone square into Alistair’s chest. He flopped to the mud, splattering about him, with an ‘oof’ of surprise. When he staggered back up, Sereda could see the red of his face and the firm set of his jaw. Alistair drew his sword too eagerly for Sereda’s comfort and her stride became a sprint. Morrigan opened her mouth to cast her spell when Sereda shouted, drawing the warring party’s attention.

“That’s enough!” Alistair sheathed his sword, shaking his head.

“ _Now_ you intervene,” Morrigan spat, her expression somehow fiery hot even with her dark hair plastered to her forehead.

“You can’t have it both ways!” Sereda exclaimed, exasperation over taking her. Morrigan and Alistair both glared, chests heaving as they returned to calm. She whipped her eyes to Alistair, jabbing a finger to emphasize. “You aren’t a templar anymore—”

“But—” Alistair began, and Sereda shoved him before he could finish. He stumbled and fell back into the mud, mouth dropping in surprise.

“But nothing! I won’t have you two fighting constantly! Alistair, you left the Chantry to be a Grey Warden, and Wardens don’t have a problem with mages! You don’t get to be both!”

She turned to the witch, the beginnings of a sneer on her pale face. “And you, Morrigan, stop antagonizing him! None of us have a choice in this!”

“‘Tis no fault of mine I was born a mage—”

“It _is_ your choice to rile him up any chance you get! No more!” Sereda shouted, turning from them, and trudging away. Leliana and Sten exchanged a look and followed her.

Sereda looked over her shoulder, Alistair and Morrigan still frozen in the driving rain. “Let’s go,” she exclaimed. They made no move toward her. “Now!”

Alistair slowly got to his feet, following Morrigan with a glare. _Ancestor’s blood,_ Sereda swore as she watched them shuffle towards her. _Is it too much to ask for one day of peace?_

The rain continued its assault, the road becoming harder and harder to navigate. Sereda slipped more than once, so unused to anything beneath her feet but stone, and she glared up at Alistair when he tried to assist her.

His hands flew from her arms to upturned penitence. “I’m sorry, Sereda—”

“Don’t apologize to _me_ , Alistair. Morrigan’s the one who deserves it.” She righted herself and slopped her braids back from her face, the loosened strands returning to their infuriating place on her cheeks.

Instantly indignant, Alistair snapped, “She started it!”

“How old are?” Sereda rolled her eyes. Their companions were watching with wide eyes, Leliana especially more intrigued by this argument than the previous one. Sten took a step closer, but Sereda shot him a look to stop him. She looked up through the rain at her fellow Warden and continued, “Morrigan may be… sullen, but she is _helping_ us. She’s hunting for us, guiding us. And not because it’s her _duty_. She doesn’t have to be here, same as Leliana, or Sten. You’d do well to remember that.”

Alistair pressed his lips to a thin line and nodded shortly before turning on his heel to stomp down the road. Sereda let out a huff of air and followed, motioning to the rest to do the same. She saw Morrigan give her a quirk of the lips and Sereda took it as gratitude.

Their band hadn’t gotten far when they came upon a cart stuck in the mud. _It’s always something_ , she thought angrily, marching forward to see how they could assist. She thanked the Ancestors that Bodahn had more sense than these pour souls, but she tried to arrange her face into something resembling friendliness.

“Hello there! Can we help you?” She called out to the two figures pushing at the cart, realizing as she got closer they were clad in armor. Specifically shining, silver armor, emblazoned with the coat of arms of Teyrn Loghain. Sereda whirled back, hoping that she could hide before the soldiers saw who had come to their aide, but it was too late.

“Well, if it isn’t the Wardens. Come to deliver another message?” The commander straightened, hand going to his sword. Sereda couldn’t help but feel pride when she saw his swollen eye and split lip, Leliana’s doing.

She held up her hands, placating. “We don’t want trouble. We’re just traveling. Let us leave it at that.” The rest of her companions arrived and Sereda could hear Sten’s groan of annoyance.

“Doyle,” the commander barked and the soldier came forward with a sneer. “Is this not the qunari scum the chantry locked up? Wonder how it got out.”

Sten’s groan became a growl and he marched forward. Sereda grabbed at his arm uselessly; she could hardly overpower someone twice her height.

“Basra vashedan,” Sten spat, glaring down at the soldiers. “If you think yourselves equal to the might of the Qun, I invite you to show it.”

The commander gave a mock laugh and nudged his companion. The other soldiers came forward, all readying for a fight. There were more than were in the tavern, perhaps a dozen. Sereda gulped. “It wouldn’t be a fair fight, with you being as dumb as a post—”

Sten picked the commander up by the throat and looked over his shoulder at Sereda. “Can we fight _them_ ,” he drawled, hand constricting until the commander was gasping. She glared at him and nodded, despite her ire at his tone. Sten threw the man across the field with a feral grin.

She slid her daggers from their sheaths and charged forward. In the wide space of the muddy road, Sereda was free. Her anger and frustration poured from her as she whirled around a soldier swinging a battleaxe toward her face. Sereda leapt up and drove one dagger through her throat, yanking it out and kicking the solider to the ground. With one opponent down, she ran towards an archer nocking an arrow meant for Sten. She threw her dagger, shouting in rage and triumph as it buried itself into the archer’s side and she reached him just as he shrieked. She slid the dagger out, slicing his throat with the gifted blade. He crumpled silently to the mud and she was off again.

She paid no attention to her companions, not seeing the way Alistair hacked at the contingent of soldiers circling him, or how Morrigan shook the ground around her to upset her own foes. Sereda did not see Leliana dancing between fights, her blades flowing like magma through Orzammar, nor how Sten had retrieved the battleaxe that had nearly killed her to menace the commander, still grasping his throat. Sereda only saw the red sheet of rage over her eyes. _May the Stone catch me if I fall_.

The fighting ended as unceremoniously as it began. The soldiers all lay dead in the mud and Sereda’s heart started to return to its normal tempo. She felt shame, looking at their faces, clean of blood with the force of the rain. It was one thing to slay criminals or darkspawn, but these were soldiers, men and women doing what they were commanded.

“Is everyone alright?” She doubled in the guise of catching her breath and took in their affirmative calls. Alistair came to her side as the others picked through the bodies, looking for salvage.

“Are _you_ alright?” He eased her up with a soft hand on her arm and she allowed it. His eyes crinkled in concern and he brushed back a wet tendril from her cheek.

_Damn it,_ she thought, wanting to retain her anger. She shook her head and confessed, “It’s different when they’re…”

“I know,” he squeezed her hand and left her, helping to gather weapons.

Sereda looked to her feet, her stomach turning in a too-familiar mixture of horror and hunger. Her last adversary, greying beard and grizzled cheeks belied a life of service, lay at her feet, throat slit and eyes opened wide to the rain. She turned away, but a flash of gold caught her eye. The soldier’s purse lay in the mud, gold spilling into the sucking mud. She stared at it as her mind whirled with indecision.

She thought of her childhood; there had been a riot in Dust Town, when Sereda was eight. She’d gone with her parents to see the improvements the smiths were making to the slums, and the casteless reacted violently to the royal procession. The guards subdued it quickly enough, but Sereda remembered how the streets shone with blood. Soon others had emerged from their homes, stripping the bodies of what little valuables they possessed before the guards could drag them away. Her mother and father had ushered her to the palace then, the king murmuring judgments to them.

“Like deepstalkers upon corpses,” he barked, shaking his head.

Her mother had laid a hand on his arm and gently replied, “They do what they must. Only the strong survive here.” Her words echoed in Sereda’s head as she bent to salvage the coins from the muddy grip of the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that ballooned into two (or three if I'm being honest)! I'm sure you guys don't mind having more to read, though. Hope you all enjoyed it, it's one I really liked writing!
> 
> Comments, kudos, views, subscriptions, bookmarks, brief psychic projections of amusement, are appreciated and loved!


	18. Chapter 18

The river was surely sent by the Ancestors, Sereda mused. They’d finally spied the tall mill Alistair had identified as belonging to Redcliffe a few hours before, and the Wardens and their companions made camp near a river feeding into Lake Calenhad. The days on the road had been surprisingly calm, given the inauspicious start, but Sereda was still grateful to have a moment of rest before heading down to see Arl Eamon.

Sten and Alistair had gone to the river to bathe first, Alistair returning with pink cheeks and Sten with a glare, then it was the women’s turn. Sereda gleefully shucked her clothes and waded into the water. It was close to frigid and came up to nearly her mouth, but she sighed happily as the dirt floated away from her. It was the closest to luxury she’d felt in weeks. _Just some soap and a comb, and I’m practically in Orzammar!_

Morrigan took to the water just as readily, though Leliana was weary. She dipped a toe in and grimaced.

“It’s quite all right, Leliana,” Sereda called, splashing the water. “You won’t care it’s freezing soon enough.”

“I thought Orlesians bathed twice a day,” Morrigan drawled, swimming further upstream.

Leliana scoffed and placed her other foot in with a grimace. “And I thought swamp witches never did.”

“Touché,” Morrigan replied with a laugh. Leliana pulled off her tunic and rushed forward with a merry shriek.

“Blood and damnation!” She swore with a laugh, stroking closer to Sereda. “The faster we get this over with, the faster we can build a fire. A great, roaring fire!”

Sereda laughed and ducked beneath the water. The cool water rushed through her hair, dragging away the days of dirt and blood. She surfaced, water to her chin, catching Morrigan and Leliana in the beginnings of a debate.

“I’m wondering, Morrigan… do you believe in the Maker?”

Morrigan scoffed and spread her arms to float, her thin body bared to the sun. “Certainly not. I’ve no primitive fear of the moon such that I must place my faith in tales so that I may sleep at night.”

Leliana considered it, looking to Sereda for support. The dwarf chuckled and shook her head, striding through the water towards the bank. She _wanted_ to interject, to preach on the Stone, but decided against it, content to listen to the women speak. Only the dwarves could really understand it anyway. Humans could not _feel_ the Stone; how could they pray to it?

Leliana motioned to the sky, spinning about. “But this can’t all be an accident. Spirits, magic, all these wondrous things around us both dark and light. You know these things exist.”

Morrigan replied, not angrily as she would with Alistair but matter-of-factly, “The fact of their existence does not presuppose an intelligent design by some… absentee father-figure.”

“So, it is all random, then?” Leliana shook her head with a small smile. “A happy coincidence that we are all here?”

Sereda pulled herself from the river, enjoying how the sun dried the water droplets on her skin.  

Morrigan splashed the river, water jumping merrily up to sparkle in the sun. “Attempting to impose order over chaos is futile. Nature is, by its very nature, chaotic.”

Leliana sighed happily, dipping her head beneath the water and resurfacing with a gasp. She shook the water from her hair and replied, “I don’t believe that. I believe we all have a purpose. All of us.”

Morrigan stood, striding to the river’s edge to her clothes. “Yours, apparently, being to bother me.” The women laughed and dressed. They made their way back through the trees to the camp. Sten had started a fire, which the women went to gratefully. Sereda looked for Alistair, sighing to herself when she saw him with Sandal, heads bent over his shield. Morrigan went off with Salroka, the mage murmuring to her mabari audience.

Sereda sat at the fire, warming her hands and feet and glanced to Leliana. The sister was watching her intently.

“May I…?” Leliana began, her mouth shutting when Sereda turned.

Sereda raised her eyebrows and replied slowly, “May you… what?’

“May I braid your hair?” Leliana asked, cheeks flushing prettily.

Sereda was so taken aback she could only nod, silently. Leliana stood and went behind her, long fingers running through Sereda’s blonde locks, combing the drying strands with a happy sigh. Sereda gave an involuntary sigh too, her scalp tingling. It had been months since Sereda’s maid Falmi had last dealt with her mane of hair, and Sereda hadn’t realized how much she missed it. She shut her eyes and floated away with the current of relaxation.

“I… have I ever told you I really like the way you wear your hair?”

“My hair? Thank you…” Sereda blushed, thinking of the braids she pinned behind her head when she got the chance. She had no talent for styling, and she had hoped nobody noticed her hair in general.

Leliana parted Sereda’s hair, beginning one of the braids. “It’s very nice and it suits you. Simple, not like the elaborate hairstyles we wore in Orlais. In Orlais, it was out of control: flowers, ribbons, jewels… I cut it all off the moment I got to Ferelden!” She gave a soft laugh and Sereda joined in, calm radiating from Leliana’s hands. “One year, feathers were all the rage, and Lady Elise decided she needed to outdo everyone else, and she actually wore live songbirds in her hair!”

“No! I can’t imagine!” Sereda’s hands went reflexively to her hair, meeting Leliana’s. The sister laughed, tying off the first braid and moving to the other.

“The chirping was quite charming for a while, but you must realize, terrified little birdies often have loose bowels.”

“By the Stone!” Sereda wrinkled her nose at the thought.

Leliana giggled and leaned down to whisper, “Yes, and she never washed her hair.” She straightened and continued louder, “But I was _trying_ to say something nice to you, wasn’t I? Oh, forgive me. My mind wanders so.”

She finished the second braid and started to pin it in a wheel behind Sereda’s ear, hands still gentle on her head. “It’s just that I… I feel so comfortable with you. Like I could say anything and you wouldn’t judge me.”

Sereda looked up to Leliana, smiling. “Well, I hope we can be friends.”

Leliana beamed back, turning Sereda’s head to pin the first braid up. “I do as well, Sereda.”

She finished with a gleeful clap. “Beautiful!” Sereda patted her hair appreciatively, secure behind her ears. It was a small thing, but well-appreciated.

“Thank you, Leliana. I don’t have a mirror, but I’m sure it looks great!”

Leliana blushed and gave a little curtsy. “Thank _you_. Now, there is a Blight to stop and we must rest.” Leliana bid her good night and went to her tent, nodding to Sten along the way.

A clatter across the way caught her ear, and Sereda jerked towards it. Alistair had dropped his shield to the rocks below. He muttered something Sereda couldn’t possibly hear and swooped down to retrieve it, strapping it to his back before he could lose it again. Sereda took in his sheepish smile to the Feddics, how he hastened his steps to his tent, the flash of his eyes as he saw her observations. His grin changed to a self-deprecating smirk that Sereda’s heart fluttered at, and he ducked into his tent without a word.

She had found herself watching him more and more on the way to Redcliffe. It wasn’t intentional, at least not at first. It started just observing; the way he swung his sword, how he threw his head back when he laughed. The little movements that make one person unique from another. She reasoned that she did the same thing with all her companions. The stroke of Sten’s arm as he sharpened his axe, how Leliana braided her hair in the morning and took it down in the evenings, how Morrigan threw herself down to await supper; Sereda noted all the idiosyncrasies over time.

It changed. She didn’t know when, or how, or why, but when she watched Alistair, she saw different things. The way his hips moved when he danced around Leliana’s blades as they sparred. How his arms tensed when he lifted a log to serve as a bench for Sandal. The view from behind as he pulled his armor on first thing in the morning. How the water still rolled off of him when he’d returned from the river…

She had sighed when it hit her. She recognized the signs, even if she didn’t want to. Lust. It was to be expected; they were all healthy, young people forced together. The immediate danger of the Blight was less pressing with a plan to execute. Besides, Alistair was her closest friend on the surface, it made sense she might develop feelings beyond that. But it wouldn’t come to anything! _I won’t let it!_ Gorim’s warm eyes flashed in her memory and Sereda’s heart constricted. She’d learned that lesson well; it was all nothing but trouble. _I may be attracted to Alistair, but I will_ not _let it go any further._

Sereda stomped determinedly to her own tent, borrowed from Morrigan for the night, and found herself face to torso with Sten, thoughts of Alistair abandoned. He stood before her, arms crossed and glare painted on his face. _Perhaps that is just how he always looks_ , she mused. Could a qunari even smile?

“Why have we stopped? We would be at Redcliffe Castle by now if we had pressed on. Is this delay needful?”

She rolled her eyes and looked high up to Sten’s face. “We need to sleep and eat, Sten.” _Has he even eaten today_ , she wondered and asked, “Are _you_ all right? You were in that cage for weeks and we haven’t had a long rest since.”

Sten arched a brow. “You are concerned? No need. I am fit enough to fight.”

“That’s not…” Sereda shook her head and stopped herself. She took a different approach. _If I can learn more about him, perhaps he won’t be so frustrating._  “We’re going to be travelling together for a time. We should get to know one another.”

Sten stared down at her, his eyebrows scrunched together. When he didn’t reply, Sereda added, false brightness in her voice, “You said you were in the army.”

“I am.” She waited for him to go on, but the qunari simply stood and watched her face.

She tried again. “Why would the qunari send soldiers here?”

He uncrossed his arms to clasp them behind his back. He spoke, as if by rote, “The antaam are the eyes, hands, and mouth of the qunari. We are how my people know the world.”

“You…” she shut her eyes tightly and counted to ten. With a huff, she went on, “You didn’t really answer my question.”

“No, I didn’t,” Sten replied quickly and the quirk of his lips was what Sereda took to be his version of a smile.

“I’ve never met a qunari before. Tell me about your people.” _Surely this will get him talking._ People loved to talk about themselves.

“No.”

“No? Why not?” She planted her hands on her hips, her own glare forming to match his. She wanted to demand information, she had saved him after all, but it felt a step too far.

Sten rolled his eyes and Sereda almost laughed at the exaggerated annoyance on his face. “People are not simple. They cannot be summarized for easy reference in the manner of: ‘the elves are a lithe, pointy-eared people who excel at poverty.’”

Sereda’s mouth dropped in a mixture of shock and ire. He had a point, which she was loathe to note. But he was seemingly doing his best to annoy her rather than answer her questions.

“A little hostile, aren’t we?” She added a bite to her own words, knowing that most of it came out of annoyance at herself.

Sten crinkled his brow and replied, evenly. “Many humans have said that to me. I do not understand it. If I were indeed hostile, you would be bleeding.”

Sereda arched a brow up at him. “So, this is you being calm and helpful?”

“Couldn’t you tell?” _Was that another smile?_ She started to wonder whether Sten was purposefully messing with her, or just that hard to read.

She sighed and threw up her hands in defeat. “You know what? Just follow orders and you’ll do fine.”

“As you wish,” Sten said with a bow, stalking away to his own edge of camp. Sereda groaned and rubbed her forehead, the beginnings of a headache swirling behind her skull. She felt a nudge at her shoulder and turned, Salroka planting its giant tongue on the side of her face.

“Veata!” She shouted, shoving the dog off her with only a hint of a laugh. She glared at it as she wiped the slobber from her face, the last of her patience disappearing. “All I want is to get to my tent without being accosted at every turn—”

“Yelling at your dog isn’t going to help you much,” Alistair said, jogging up. He pulled Salroka back by the collar before scratching it behind the ears. “He may be intelligent, but that’s the only way he can show his affection.”

Sereda flushed, embarrassed her outburst was witnessed. “I’m sorry, Alistair—”

“You should apologize to him, not me. You didn’t yell at _me_ today.” He smiled, sympathetic. “Look, I know you didn’t grow up around dogs, but I did. Shouting at them does nothing but make them angry and confused. You have to train him with _positive_ reinforcement. Tell him when he does something good, or reward him.”

“How do I reward it? There are only so many bones in Thedas.” Salroka barked at the suggestion, and it sounded almost a laugh to her.

“Rub his belly, scratch his ears. Call him a good boy!” Salroka gave another bark and flopped to his back. Alistair bent with his own laugh and rubbed the dog vigorously. Sereda found her grimace turning into a smile as he started to play with Salroka, the two of them rolling in the grass.

“It should be your dog. I don’t even think it likes me…”

“ _He_ , Sereda. Say he. ‘It’ sounds…” Alistair popped up and ran a circle around the dog, barking and laughter mixed. “Cold.”

“Cold?” Her heart sank.

“Besides, _he_ chose you, not me. Sure, we like to play, but a mabari is more than just a pet. He chose you because you’re a worthy warrior and master.” Alistair whistled and the dog stopped the roughhousing and plopped to its—to _his_ hindquarters.

She leaned forward tentatively and scratched behind his ear, Salroka thumping his tail in response. “See?” Alistair said encouragingly. “It’s that easy!”

Sereda smiled, still a bit ashamed, and thanked him. _Sometimes it all seems too much for one person to learn_.

Alistair pulled out a flask from his pocket, the contents swishing enticingly. “This is actually why I came over here. Care for a nightcap?”

She pulled him into the tent with a laugh, Salroka moving to guard the cloth fixture. “Where’d you get this?”

“Bodahn. I traded a sword one of those soldiers had the other day.” Alistair grinned at his purchase, handing the flask to her. “Ladies first.”

She took a swig, the whiskey burning her throat as it went down. She coughed and laughed, handing it back. “It’s been a while since I’ve had anything stronger than ale. In Orzammar, my father would only let me have wine on occasion, so I had to sneak out if I wanted anything with a punch.” She kicked herself for saying it. It was one step too close to the whole truth.

Alistair paid it no heed and sat down, folding his legs beneath him. “I’m sure you can guess how often I could drink during my templar training. Then I joined the Wardens and suddenly I’m expected to drink like a fish!”

Sereda took another round, this one longer, and sat down herself. “What was it like to be a Warden, with all the others?”

He shrugged, taking back the flask. “I didn’t know them for very long, but I guess it was longer than you. You never met them all, did you?” She shook her head and he took a long pull of the whiskey and said with reverence, “They were quite a group. Actually, we felt like an extended family; we laughed more than you’d think. There was this one time…” He stopped and smiled tightly.

“Forgive me, you probably don’t want to hear more stories about men you didn’t know.”

She grabbed the whiskey back and downed some, her head beginning to swim. “Weren’t there any women?”

“Not at our fortress. Not while I was there, at least. I saw paintings of some, though none of them were as pretty as you are.” Sereda’s cheeks flushed, pleasure and embarrassment compelling the heat, and she had to suppress her grin as Alistair’s eyes went round. _He just called me pretty_ , it sent her heart fluttering. _Not that it matters!_

He rushed his next words, and Sereda didn’t embarrass him further by pointing out his compliment. “There was one Warden who came all the way from the Anderfels. What was his name? Gregor? Grigor? Anyway, he was a burly man with the biggest, fuzziest beard you’ve ever seen.”

“I did grow up in Orzammar,” she interjected with a laugh. “I’ve seen some pretty big beards.”

“His was as big as your head!” Alistair exclaimed, both of them giggling. He went on, laughter sprinkled through his words, “And the man could _drink_. He drank all the time, but never got drunk. Finally, we all made a pool to see just how many pints it would take to put him under the table.”

He devolved into laughter and Sereda said, with more than a little jealousy, “Sounds like you had a lot of fun.”

Alistair wiped at the tears in his eyes and contended, “Sometimes. We were kin, of a sort. All of us had gone through the Joining so we knew… anyhow, it doesn’t have to be deadly serious all the time.” He sloshed the flask with a wink. “So, we never did find out! He said he’d drink a pint for every half-pint that the rest of us drank. He was still going by the time the rest of us were passed out!” They both laughed and Sereda took the flask back for a swig.

“I’m told that Duncan walked in later on and saw us all passed out from one end of the hall to the other, and Gregor still drinking. Duncan laughed until he nearly…” His face fell.  “Until…”

“I’m sorry, this must be hard for you to talk about.”

He sighed and nodded. “Yes, I… I suppose so. But it just struck me that I have nothing to remember Duncan by. Nothing at all. There’s no body, not even a token of his that I could… take with me.” He took a drink and shook his head hard. “That must... sound really stupid to you.”

“Not at all!” She sighed and admitted, “You know that sword I sold in Lothering? It was… it was from my father. We had to sell it, I know, but I still—”

Alistair took her hand and she looked up to his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could have found another way to get the gold.”

Sereda scoffed, suppressing tears with a vigorous shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter; not anymore. I just meant that… I understand how you feel.”

“Well, then there’s no use moaning about it, is there,” Alistair said with a faux laugh and a forced smile. Sereda nodded and grinned as well, swiped the flask from his free hand.

They continued passing the flask back and forth, each trying topics out to make the other smile again. When they had finished it off, they were both lying on the ground, giggles outnumbering words. It felt good; not just to be drunk, but to be in the company of a friend. _A handsome friend_ , she thought, turning her head to look at Alistair. She studied him again; he didn’t have the wide nose of the dwarves, nor any beard to speak of, but his lips were full and parted to reveal a bright smile. His brown eyes were kind to her, and the way they crinkled when he laughed, his nose scrunching in tandem…

 _Stop this now, Sereda,_ she warned herself. She turned her thoughts from her companion’s face to his heritage. “So,” she said, breaking up their laughter. “You said Arl Eamon raised you?”

He turned to look at her, eyebrows raising perpendicular to the ground. “Did _I_ say that? I meant that dogs raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them, in fact.”

She giggled and went along with false solemnity. “Really? By the Stone, that must have been tough for them. I’m sure you were a rambunctious boy.”

Alistair laughed. “Well, they were flying dogs, you see. Surprisingly strict parents, too, and devout Andrastians, to boot!”

“Uh-huh. Raised by flying, devout dogs. Sounds about right,” she smiled, and she could tell her eyes were more focused on Alistair’s mouth than his eyes. _I could just kiss him quickly… See what it’s like_.

“Or did I dream all of that?” He interrupted her thoughts. “Funny the dreams you’ll have when you sleep on the cold, hard ground, isn’t it? Are you still having strange dreams?”

“Only ones where we’re making mad love in my tent,” she teased, words coming from the sodden part of her brain. Sober-Sereda would never have said that, she would have explained that because of the lack of a connection to the Fade, dwarves could not dream. Sober-Sereda would have refrained from any sort of coy nonsense anyway, knowing it would lead nowhere good. Instead Drunken-Sereda gave a flirtatious giggle and turned over, propping herself up on her elbows to watch the delicious cycle of emotions circling on Alistair’s face.

“I… Oh I think I… completely lost my train of thought…” He chuckled, breathless to Sereda’s ears. He sat up and snapped his fingers, and Sereda could see how pink his cheeks had gone. “Oh, there it is!’

“Let’s see. How do I explain this? I’m a bastard.” He waggled a finger when her mouth opened, “And before you make any smart comments, I mean the fatherless kind. My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle who died when I was very young. Arl Eamon was _not_ my father, but he took me in anyhow and put a roof over my head.”

Alistair continued, firm, “He was good to me, and he didn’t have to be. I respect the man and I don’t blame him any more for sending me off to the Chantry once I was old enough.”

 _Who is he trying to convince?_ “Why did he send you off at all?”

It was clearly a sore spot, and Sereda hated to poke it, but she could never leave well enough alone. “Arl Eamon married Isolde when I was about nine years old.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “The new arlessa resented the rumors which pegged me as his bastard. They weren’t true, but of course people talked. The arl didn’t care, but she did. Especially when she was with child.”

He smiled and she could see he was trying to pass it off as nonchalant. “So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at the age of ten. Just as well. The arlessa had made sure the castle wasn’t a home to me by that point. She _despised_ me.”

“What an awful thing to do to a child,” Sereda said, taking Alistair’s hand clumsily.

He smiled down at their intertwined fingers. “Maybe. She felt threatened by my presence, I can see that now. I can’t say I blame her. She wondered if the rumors were true, I bet,” he said, exhaling.

He sighed. “Anyway, the arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was so stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything… and eventually he just stopped coming.”

“You were young,” she reasoned.

“And raised by dogs,” he added with a mirthless laugh. “Or I may as well have been, the way I acted. But maybe all young bastards act like that, I don’t know. What I _do_ know is that the arl is a good man and well-loved by the people. He’ll be sure to see Loghain pay for what he did.”

She nodded and studied his face, eyes downturned and lips frowning. A moment ago, they had been laughing… Sorrow was a funny thing, she had learned. It did not stay, ever present and waiting. It came and went like the Blight. In one instant, the Stone was warm and singing and the next the darkspawn were upon you. She pressed Alistair’s hand again, their eyes meeting. She couldn’t say how much she understood his pain, not yet, but she could show him.

She started to lean forward, whiskey encouraging her, when Alistair jolted to his feet. “Maker, it’s late. We’ll have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, I’m sure.” He went to the tent flap, Salroka roused from his nap. “Thanks for the company, Sereda.” He was gone before she could reply.

 _Damn it_ , she thought, crawling to her bedroll. Her head was starting to spin and the tent felt altogether too hot. _Ancestors, why am I such a fool._ It was her last thought before she fell into her dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this chapter was a fun one! But back to business after this! I promise (sort of)! 
> 
> Comments, kudos, and all their variations are always appreciated! Your support means the world to me.


	19. Chapter 19

Sereda woke with a predictable headache, her eyes screwed shut and hands clapped over her ears as Salroka barked his morning alarum. She remembered Alistair’s words, “positive reinforcement” and shouted out the tent, “I love when you _do not bark_ , Salroka!” It didn’t stop the mabari, but it made her feel somewhat more awake.

_By the Stone_ , it was some strong whiskey. She’d only had liquor that strong in Orzammar a handful of times, usually when toasts to her health went too long. Her head throbbed and she stumbled from the tent in search of the water skein. Leliana was the first person she saw; _her smile’s too bright for this early in the morning._ The sister was kicking dirt over the campfire and singing, but she held the precious water in her hand so Sereda approached her with a forced smile. Leliana handed over the skein to Sereda with a smirk but didn’t chide her. Sereda thanked her with a nod, unsure how many words she could manage in her state and downed half before returning it. Her stomach protested the addition and Sereda swallowed hard to keep from vomiting.

“Save some for me,” Alistair croaked as he walked up, weapons bundled in his arms. Leliana poured it into his mouth, laughing her singsong laugh when it spilled down his chin.

“Remind me to talk to Bodahn about what he considers a ‘light’ brew,” he said, face going green. “Maker’s breath,” he swore, dropping the weapons and running off. The sound of his vomiting echoed through the camp and Sereda had to fight her own wave of nausea.

“Perhaps it was foolish to overindulge the eve before such an important day,” Morrigan sauntered up, her effects packed neatly and slung over her shoulder already. “You would _think_ a Grey Warden would not be so moronic.”

“Lay off, Morrigan,” Leliana said, taking the water to Alistair.

Sereda agreed, in a fashion with Morrigan. They shouldn’t have stayed up late drinking. Especially now that they had to face the arl and beg for his help. But she enjoyed spending time with Alistair, and getting know him better. She smiled, the movement of her face sending a pang throughout her skull, and clutched her forehead.

“Oh, you too?” Morrigan asked, the venom she reserved for Alistair replaced by amusement. “You’re both fools.” She smiled down at Sereda and called for Sten.

The qunari came up as Alistair and Leliana returned, Sten’s face going from stone-blank to a glare as they assembled. Sereda took a deep breath, waiting a moment for her stomach to stop rolling, and addressed them.

“It’s important that we get Eamon’s help today. A promise of his troops would be best, but if not, we’ll settle just for his voice behind ours. That being said, I need you all to conduct yourselves with decorum,” Morrigan scoffed and rolled her eyes. Sereda glared at her and went on, “and _without_ bickering all afternoon. Understood?”

They all gave some sort of sound and Sereda figured it was enough. They bid Bodahn and Sandal goodbye, the dwarves unable to sell their wares in Redcliffe without a permit, and Sereda set Salroka to the task of protecting them. He seemed sullen to be left, but Leliana promised to bring him back a bone and his ears perked back up.

Their camp was only about an hour from town, and the heat of the sun was coupled with a cool breeze. Sereda’s nausea began to wane as she nibbled a biscuit and Alistair stopped running for the bushes as they neared Redcliffe. She repeated her speech in her mind, practicing her plea to perfection. They _had_ to get Eamon’s support. How could they hope to unite the rest without it?

They were nearly to the town, Sereda’s heart lightening with each dusty footfall on the road, when Alistair caught up to her side. Soon they would be encased in the comforting stone of the castle high atop the hills of Redcliffe. Perhaps Arl Eamon’s hospitality would extend to a hot meal and a hotter bath. The idea of soaking in a grand tub instead of a frigid river—

“Look, can we talk for a moment?” Alistair’s urgent whisper took her from her thoughts of cleaning off. “I need to tell you something I, ah… should have told you earlier.”

She waved the others ahead, looking up to Alistair with a concerned wrinkle in her brow. He was looking straight down, avoiding her gaze until she ducked underneath his face to force the issue.

“What’s on your mind?” She laid a hand on his arm, squeezing it encouragingly.

With a deep breath and a heavy sigh, he began, “I told you last night how Arl Eamon raised me, right? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in?”

When she nodded enthusiastically, he went on. “The reason he did that was because… well, because my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my… half-brother, I suppose.”

The cogs of Sereda’s mind slammed to a stop. She gaped up at Alistair unbecomingly, but she couldn’t force her features into a more appealing look. That tug in Ostagar… his smile was the same as Cailan’s, she realized with a start. _Ancestors…_ She couldn’t finish any sort of prayer, her cheeks burning and jaw dropped. The silence stretched on as she stared. Alistair shuffled from foot to foot and cleared his throat, snapping her mind into action again.

“So… you’re not just a bastard but a royal bastard?” It was the first thing to come to mind, and she was pleased to see the quip made Alistair smile.

“Yes, I guess I am at that. I should use that line more often.” He laid his hand over hers. “I would have told you, but… it never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to the crown and they kept me secret. I’ve never talked about it with anyone, to be honest. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me… even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn’t want you to know, as long as possible. I’m sorry.”

She ignored the apology to ask, “Does Loghain know?” _Is that why he’s pursuing us_ , she left off.

Alistair pulled out of her grasp and sat himself on a boulder. “Why wouldn’t he? He was King Maric’s best friend. I don’t know if that means anything to him, though.”

He forced a smile and threw up his hands. “At any rate, that’s it. That’s what I had to tell you. I thought you should know about it.”

She put on a false stern glower and asked, “Are you sure? You’re not hiding anything else?”

He smirked and replied, “Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That’s it. Just the prince thing.”

The word sent a jolt through her. _A prince_. A bastard prince to her exiled princess. A perfect match… She laughed at her folly and walked forward to grab Alistair’s hand.

“What’s so funny? You imagining me in a crown and furs?” He pulled her closer, and her heart skipped a beat to be so near to him. _A friendly flutter_ , she told herself.

“No, it’s just… you’re a prince! I find that very… thrilling.” She wanted to tell him her own secret lineage, but it didn’t feel right. _Tonight_ , she promised herself, _in the castle._

“Oh! Did I just find the one damn decent thing about my birthright? I think I did.” He beamed at her, their faces level for once, and continued, “I have no illusions about my status, however. It’s always been made very clear that I’m a commoner and now a Grey Warden and in _no_ way in line for the throne.”

He asserted, “And that’s fine by me! If there’s an heir to be found, it’s Arl Eamon himself. He’s not of royal blood, but he is Cailain’s uncle. And more importantly, very popular with the people.”

“If he’s really as sick as we’ve heard…” Sereda said gingerly. Alistair shook his head vehemently.

“I don’t want to think about that. I really don’t.”

Sereda nodded her understanding and looked to the others. Morrigan and Sten were muttering to one another, Morrigan tapping her foot impatiently. Leliana was watching them with a grin, though, and Sereda found herself smiling back. Alistair noticed them too and stood, drawing Sereda’s eyes high up to his.

“So, there you have it. Now can we move on, and I’ll just pretend you still think I’m some… nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens.” He strode towards the others with a bounce in his step.

Sereda laughed, following with the same gait. “And what does that make _me_?”

He looked over his shoulder and gave her a lopsided grin that made her cheeks pink. “The reason I say I was lucky.” Sereda’s heart soared as he turned back around, and there weren’t enough darkspawn in the Deep Roads to wipe the smile off her face.

They crossed a short bridge, water rushing down from a giant mill to empty into Lake Calenhad below. The village surrounded the river, buildings huddled on and over its banks. The castle rose high above, the sun hitting it just right to cast a friendly shadow over all. It was quite the pretty picture. Sereda still had the grin plastered on her face, but did her best to fix it into a statelier one when a young man ran up to them.

“I…” The man doubled and panted, each word coming out in a breathless spurt, “I thought I saw travelers coming down the road, though I scarcely believed it.” He stood with a grimace and surveyed them.

“Have you come to help us?”

The Wardens and their companions exchanged confused looks, much to the man’s chagrin, and Sereda answered for them. “We’re on important business. We need to see Arl Eamon.”

“The arl? Then… you don’t know? Has nobody out there heard?” Sereda’s heart fell and she kept her eyes from flicking to Alistair. _Are we too late?_

“We’ve heard the arl is ill, if that is what you mean,” Morrigan replied, a small hint of caring in her voice.

The man shook his head and raised his brow with his voice, “He could be dead, for all we know! Nobody’s heard from the castle in days! We’ve been under attack! Monsters come out of the castle every night and attack us until dawn. Everyone’s been fighting… and dying.”

Morrigan shook her head and whispered, “Apparently, everyone seems to agree that a Blight is the perfect time to start killing each other. Marvelous really.”

The man continued, ignoring the witch’s quip. “We’ve no army to defend us, no arl, and no king to send us help. So many are dead and those left are terrified they’re next!”

Alistair pushed forward and Sereda saw the wide-eyed fear on his face. “Hold on, what is this evil that’s attacking you?”

The man shrugged violently and replied, “I don’t rightly know. Nobody does!” He looked down over his shoulder to the village below. “I should take you to Bann Teagan. He’s all that’s holding us together. He’ll want to see you.”

“Bann Teagan? Arl Eamon’s brother? He’s here?” Alistair followed the man and Sereda and her fellows fell in line.

It was a tense, fast, stride to the chantry, where this Bann Teagan was holed up. Sereda walked through the chantry doors without a thought, only later reflecting it was her first time within Andraste’s holy walls. For now, she had more important thoughts.

A red-haired man in his early forties stood at the altar, barking out orders to the men and women around him. He glanced up as they approached and his face relaxed into a blank slate. “It’s… Tomas, yes? And who are these people with you? They’re obviously not merchants,” he tacked on, his eyes going to their weapons.

Tomas, their guide, bowed and said, “No, my lord. They just arrived and I thought you would want to see them. They said they’re on business to see the arl.”

Teagan nodded, a ghost of smile on his lips. Up close, Sereda could see the sleepless bags under his eyes. “Well done, Tomas. Greetings, friends. My name is Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainsefere, brother to the arl.”

Alistair and Leliana bowed low, while the others simply nodded. When he straightened, Alistair spoke for them. “I remember you, Bann Teagan, though the last time we met I was a lot younger and…” he chuckled, “covered in mud.”

“Covered in mud?” Teagan’s brow screwed up in confusion, his eyes slowly widening as he took in Alistair’s face. “… Alistair? It is you, isn’t it! You’re alive! This is wonderful news!” He pulled him into a bear hug, the men clapping one another on the back. Sereda felt some of her dread abate. _Even in Eamon is dead, there is_ someone _here who will help us._

They pulled apart and Alistair replied, “Still alive, yes. Though not for long if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it.”

Teagan nodded gravely. “Indeed. Loghain would have us believe all Grey Wardens died along with my nephew.” He shook his head and added, “Amongst other things.”

“So, you don’t believe Loghain’s lies,” Sereda asked.

The bann scoffed and crossed his arms. “What, that he pulled his men in order to save them? That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory? Hardly.”

Sereda thought, her stomach lurching, of the moments before Ostagar. How excited Cailan was to fight alongside the Wardens. How he refused to heed Loghain’s advice… _What if the teyrn isn’t lying?_

Teagan continued his thought, “Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don’t believe it. It is an act of a desperate man. So… you are all Wardens as well?”

Sten grunted and Morrigan scoffed, though Leliana politely shook her head. “Just me, my lord,” Sereda said with a bow of her head.

Bann Teagan inclined his head, a tight smile pulling at his wan cheeks. “A pleasure to meet you all. I wish it were under better circumstances…”

He sent the few remaining folks around them off and motioned for the crew to follow him to a room in the back of the chantry. “You’re here to see my brother? Unfortunately, that might be a problem. Eamon is gravelly ill and no one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls and no one has responded to my messengers.”

“When did these… monsters appear?” Leliana asked, concern tinging her voice.

Teagan sighed and rubbed his eyes, weary. “The attacks started a few nights ago. Evil… things surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the first assault.”

“What happened then?”

“They hit again the next night, and the next. Each time, with greater numbers.” Teagan’s voice cracked and Alistair gripped his arm. “With Cailan dead and Loghain starting a war over the throne, no one has responded to my urgent calls for help. I have a feeling tonight’s assault will be the worst yet. Alistair, I hate to ask, but I desperately need the help of you and your friends. Even just five more able-bodied people can save dozens of lives.”

Alistair looked to Sereda, face stricken. “It isn’t just up to me, Bann Teagan. Though the Grey Wardens don’t stand much chance against Loghain without Arl Eamon.” Sereda strode forward, her mouth set in a determined line.

“Of _course_ we’ll help!”

Sten called out to her over their heads. “There are no darkspawn here, and nothing to gain. It is a fool’s errand.”

Evenly, doing her best to keep tempers from flaring, Sereda reasoned, “If there’s a chance to rescue the arl, we have to try.”

Sten glared but only replied, “Perhaps.” _I’ll take it_.

Morrigan rolled her eyes up at Sten and fixed Sereda with a withering look. “How pointless, to help these villagers fight an impossible battle. One would think we had enough to contend with elsewhere.”

Leliana adopted an admonishing tone, “We cannot just leave these poor people to their fate, Morrigan. We are duty bound to help them”

Teagan interrupted them before it could devolve into an argument, clapping his hands together in relief. “Thank you! Thank you, this… means more to me than you can guess. Tomas,” he called, “please tell Murdock what transpired. Then return to your post.”

Tomas bowed and left, jogging from the chantry. Bann Teagan sighed and shook his head. “There is much to do before night falls. I’ve put two men in charge of the defense outside. Speak to Murdock and Ser Perth. I’m sure if they need anything, they’ll inform you.”

Sereda bowed. “We’ll be on our way then.”

“Maker’s breath, it’s good to know you’re well, young man.” He clasped Alistair’s shoulder with a smile. “Luck be with you, my friend.”

They hurried from the chantry, Sten grumbling to Morrigan. _They’ll make peace with it,_ Sereda assured herself, looking for the men she was tasked to help.

Murdock was easily located in the town square, muttering directions to the soldiers running by. Sereda approached with a tight smile, falling as Murdock harrumphed at her presence.

“So you’re the Grey Warden, are you? I didn’t think they made _women_ Grey Wardens.”

Sereda rolled her eyes. “I don’t think darkspawn care who kills them.”

“If you haven’t noticed, there aren’t darkspawn around these parts.” He huffed again and shrugged. “Well, we aren’t going to turn aside anyone who wants to help. Don’t take me for an ingrate or nothing.”

“We do want to help however we can.” Alistair interjected, bowing his head. “You can trust us.”

“What can we do?” Leliana asked, moving to the front of the group.

Murdock’s scrutiny of Sereda was warm praise compared to the look he gave Leliana. Sereda glared at him, hand lightly moving to her dagger. He cleared his throat and began to hem-and-haw his way through the list, “We need what little armor and weapons we got repaired…”

And it was quite the list. By the time Sereda and her crew returned to Teagan’s side, the sun was setting behind the mill. They’d recruited men to the cause, including a dwarf Sereda promised to endorse to the arl, the drunk smith Owen, and the tavern owner. Murdock assured them they’d done everything they could and Sereda took it as his form of praise.

Leliana went to pray with the sisters, huddled near the altar. Sten and Morrigan took off in opposite directions, the mage shooting Sereda daggers as she went. Sereda grimaced as she and Alistair went to sit in a pew. He began to pray, kneeling and bouncing nervously in turn while Sereda did her best to not think on Andraste or the Maker. She had enough to deal with. The minutes seemed to tick by in an excruciating tempo, the stained windows darkening in a slow march to black.

She needed a distraction. “Alistair?” She whispered when he had opened his eyes and resumed his seat. He looked down at her with a questioning brow. “Why did you keep your… family a secret?”

He rubbed his forehead and replied sheepishly, “You never asked?”

She narrowed her eyes and did her best to keep a smile from her lips. _By the Stone_ , she wondered how he could be so annoying and yet so charming…

“All right,” he said with a sigh. “If you want the full explanation, I’ll give it to you.”

He adjusted to face her better, his eyes meeting hers with an earnest turn at the corners. “The thing is, I’m used to not telling anyone who didn’t already know. It was always a secret. Even Duncan was the only Warden who knew. And then after the battle, when I should have told you…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It seemed like it was too late by then. How do you just tell someone that?”

Sereda nodded, thinking of her own past. _How do you just tell someone you’re a princess?_ “I guess I can understand that.”

“I… I should have told you anyway. It was important for you to know. I guess part of me liked you not knowing.”

“Why? What happens when people find out?” Her heart skipped. _What will happen when you find out?_

“They treat me differently,” he sighed. He turned with a shake of his head, his gaze going to the altar. “I become the bastard prince to them, instead of just Alistair.”

He looked at his hands. “I know that must sound stupid to you, but I hate that it’s shaped my entire life. I never wanted it, and I certainly don’t want to be king. The very idea terrifies me.”

She took his hand, her heart sinking to see his sorrow. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” He met her eyes again with a sad smile. “My blood seems certain to haunt me no matter what I do.”

He laid his free hand over hers and patted it lightly. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I… I guess I was just hoping you would like me for who I am.” He muttered, “It was a dumb thing to do.”

Sereda smiled, though her heart continued to swim towards her navel. “Apology accepted.”

Alistair gave a breathless chuckle. “I guess it’s kind of a relief that you know now.”

Her mind was whirling so she could only nod along with him. It was as good a time as any to tell him, she reasoned. They could connect, secret royalty with no claim to the throne… _But_ , a reedy voice told her, _he doesn’t want to be king. He has no need for a princess_. He wanted to be just Alistair, and he surely wanted her to be just Sereda. Things were going well. _Relatively well,_ she amended, glancing at the panicked and fear stricken faces around her. How could she tell him who she was in the midst of all this?

Still, she could hardly reprimand him for his omission given what she was sitting on. She opened her mouth, resolved to give some sort of truth to him, when a templar burst in, shouting.

“The monsters! They’re here!” Sereda sprang up, sprinting from the chantry, thoughts of truthfulness abandoned.

It was one thing to hear secondhand about a horrifying sight. It was easy to dismiss the fears of the Redcliffe townspeople. Of course _they_ were afraid, they were up against creatures the ilk of which they’d never seen. But Sereda had fought darkspawn, watched their leader in her nightmares; what could be worse than that? The corpses and skeletons flowing in a torrid rush from the castle were another matter entirely. Limbs hacked off kept squirming in the mud, eyes hung half detached from their owners, Sereda could hardly list the nauseating sights. She ducked under the arc of a fiend’s blade, her veridium dagger halving its spine.

And fighting was complicated by the lack of flesh. Sereda never believed she would have wished for blood and sinew, but the dry bones were nearly impossible to fight. Sereda could only hack and hack at them until they fell to the ground as suddenly as they’d risen from it. She wasn’t sure it was even her doing that halted them. Perhaps it was just the dark magic behind them moved on, unwilling to continue a losing battle.

In the midst of the melee, Sereda took stock of her companions, teeth bared and sweat glistening in the firelight. Morrigan had found herself a balcony high above the fighting, jets of green and red flowing alternating in whirling patterns down to the battlefield. She caught sight of Sereda and her manic grin was briefly illuminated by a burst of flame from the tip of her staff. _She’ll be fine._ Leliana was another story. She seemed to have lost a blade, fighting with bow in one hand and dagger in the other. The corpse advancing on her was suddenly split in half by Sten’s axe, but Leliana was hardly out of the woods. Sten stayed planted, though, cutting through swathes through his and Leliana’s assailants. Freed of some of the burden, Leliana drew her bow, her arrow sinking square into the chest of a corpse dodging Sten’s blows. Satisfied that they could defend one another, Sereda whipped her head around, searching for the last of her companions.

As she watched, a ghoul charged Alistair, knocking him to the ground. His shout was drowned in the din as the skeleton wrapped its impossibly long fingers around his throat. The warden squirmed, unable to get purchase on his attacker, his head turning enough to meet Sereda’s eyes and hand reaching towards her. Sereda’s heart stopped and suddenly her feet were flying over the bodies of the fallen. She reached him with a scream, ripping the skeleton off of her comrade and, daggers abandoned, she wrenched the bones apart. Rage and fear fueled her as she tore at it, the bones defenseless against her onslaught. She threw each piece to her feet until the last smiling teeth fell from its skull. She stood still, chest heaving, staring down at Alistair’s awe-struck face.

“Thank you, de—Sereda,” he said, breathless himself, taking her proffered hand with a weak grin. The shuffling of their feet rattled the pile of bones around them. “I hope you didn’t save me for some royal favor.” 

Sereda glared but felt her lips parting into a smile as she whirled back into the fighting. It was seemingly endless, shambling skeletons and rotting corpses streaming from every direction. The shouts of the guards forgotten, the strange clattering of the bones ignored, Sereda fought on four fronts, her daggers swimming and muscles screaming. _There will be time to rest eventually_ , she comforted herself, kicking the teeth of a creature trying to gnaw on her calf. _Eventually, eventually_.

It came, the bright dawn. Sereda crumpled to the ground with the last of her assailants, her whole body giving up on the battle. She stared at the lightening sky, taking note of her injuries. Her fingers found a gash on her hip, bruises to her leg where the skeleton had done its best to take a bite out, dried blood crusted to her forehead and down her cheek. Morrigan’s face appeared over her, her dark hair loose from its pins to plaster her cheeks.

“Remember this feeling the next time some simpleton begs for our aide,” she sneered, helping the warden to her feet. Sereda grimaced as she stood. _Broken toes,_ she added to the list. She limped behind the mage towards the chantry. Her exhaustion sunk to sorrow as she took in the human and elven bodies strewn throughout the monsters. It was not an easy win.

Bann Teagan stood at the arched doors to the chantry, eyes wide. The women and children shuffled out from behind him, led by the Revered Mother Hannah. Sereda sighed with relief as Alistair came to her side, Leliana supported between him and Sten. She gave Sereda a wan smile and the warden knew her injuries would have to wait until later.

“Dawn arrives,” Teagan declared, spreading his arms wide. “We survived the night; we are victorious!”

A dampened cheer went through the crowd. Teagan beckoned Sereda forward and she reluctantly climbed the steps, her feet protesting each stair. Morrigan and the others followed, each wincing and huffing as they went.

The bann continued his speech. “And though this victory came at great cost, we must remember none of us would be here were it not for the heroism of these warriors beside me.”

He turned and bowed to Sereda and she was ashamed of the thrill of pleasure that shot through her. “I thank you, dear lady. Truly, the Maker smiled on us when he sent you here in our darkest hour.”

Sereda grimaced, trying to pass it off as a smile, the crowd cheering louder. Mother Hannah led them in a prayer for the departed. Sereda didn’t recognize the names except the last; Murdock. Her eyes flicked to his widow; she knelt, clutching her young sons to her chest. _May his ancestors give him welcome_ , Sereda added silently. With the prayer finished, Teagan went on.

“With the Maker’s favor, the blow we delivered today is enough for me to enter the castle and seek out your arl! Be wary and watch for signs of renewed attack. We shall return with news as soon as we are able.” He looked to Sereda and added, sotto voce, “Now, we’ve no time to waste. Meet me at the mill.”

He left as swiftly as he could, the people of Redcliffe congratulating him on his victory. Sereda let her grinning mask fall and ambled to Leliana, checking her injuries.

Her bow did not protect her nearly well enough. Bruises dotted her skin, blood splatter adding to the gruesomeness. The sister tried to stand on her own and nearly collapsed, her supports catching her easily enough. Tears filled her eyes as she groaned, “I’m sorry, Sereda, I don’t think I’ll be much use in this state.”

Sereda nodded, heart sinking. “Sten, help Leliana back to camp and meet us at the mill?”

He nodded and scooped Leliana into his arms, the sister’s eyes going wide with a weak chuckle. Sereda realized her voice was terse and she softened, catching Leliana’s hand “Bodahn should have some poultices. Take the gold from my tent if he haggles with you. Get some rest.” She smiled down with a nod, and Sten was off without another word.

Alistair, free of Leliana’s weight, swooped to her side, fingers checking the wound on her head.

“Are you alright? This looks bad.”

Sereda shrugged, moving to follow Teagan. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

Alistair looked to the castle with a heavy sigh, falling in step behind her. “No, it doesn’t seem it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you guys liked this chapter; it was a lot of fun to write! And can you believe it, we're almost halfway through! If I stick with my plot outline, that is...
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated and cherished!


	20. Chapter 20

Sereda muttered under her breath a slew of curses as the last of the corpses lay still once again. _Sneak through the windmill_ , Teagan had said. _It’s the only other entrance_ , he’d said. Sereda was hardly grateful for the instruction as the hour of crouching through dark and damp tunnels led to the castle basements, filled with more of the ghouls she’d fought all night. Bann Teagan told them he’d planned to secret himself into the castle, but he’d left with the arlessa. Sereda shut her eyes and counted to ten. She comforted herself that at the very least, she wasn’t the only angry one.

Sten was angry that, upon his return, the trio was still speaking with Bann Teagan, joined by Arlessa Isolde herself. She’d run up in a panic, begging Teagan to return to the castle with her immediately. After ignoring Sereda and the others, playing dumb when they asked her to clarify just what was going on in the castle, and sobbing at the slightest provocation, Isolde had managed to drag Teagan away. Sten had groaned that there was no sense in following the weeping woman and that they should move on to fight the darkspawn directly.

Morrigan was angry that Teagan had given them his signet ring before he’d left and told them of the hidden way into the castle he’d been planning to use. She had agreed with Sten, “We should just return to camp and plot another course!” But she had followed Sereda all the same, with her usual huffing and sighing. When the devilish creatures rose from the moldy ground of the basement, Morrigan ducked back into the tunnels to wait out the fight. “I did not agree to this,” she had snipped when Sereda shouted for her help. Thankfully, the mage found a little pity and blasted a fireball into the room, singeing the last of the foes.

Alistair was angry that he could not get a straight answer about the arl. Isolde had said he was being kept alive, but wouldn’t say how. She had said he was poisoned by an infiltrating mage, but when he asked her how the mage managed to get into the castle, she had simply said he was a tutor for her son Connor. And, to top it all, she had called Sereda impertinent, after Sereda only tried to help! Alistair’s face had turned beet red and he was about to defend his… companion, when she spoke up for herself. Sereda interrogated Isolde until they knew that the fiends had come from the castle, the arl was indeed alive and very ill, Connor was acting strangely, and Isolde feared for their lives. He had been proud of his fellow Warden, but still furious that the arlessa would treat a stranger as poorly as she treated him.

Sereda sheathed her daggers and kicked a skeleton with a shout. She’d forgotten her broken toes and the pain radiated up her foot. _Worth it_ , she decided, kicking it again before turning to the others.

“All right, this has clearly not been the best use of our time. But there is still a terrified woman in there, and a very sick man. We need to see this through, for the arl’s sake.”

“What is the point in this?” Sten threw up his hands, nearly smacking the ceiling. “There are no darkspawn here.”

“But the arl can help us fight Loghain—” Alistair began, a scoff from Morrigan cutting his words short.

“I agree with the qunari, this is a fool’s errand.”

Sereda shook her head and barked, “Enough! We’re here, we might as well see what is going on. At the very least, we’ll be gaining favor with Bann Teagan and Arlessa Isolde, they can help us just as well as Eamon can.”

She turned and stomped to the door, some of her ire dissipating as Alistair’s hand brushed hers.

“Thank you,” he murmured, pulling open the wooden door for her. “It means a lot to me.”

She chided herself, knowing that a large reason she’d even agreed was for Alistair’s sake. She was growing more and more doubtful Arl Eamon could be the ally Alistair thought he would be. Still, she wanted to support him, as a friend. She met his eyes and smiled as best she could. “I know. You’re welcome.”

The door led to the dungeons proper, cell doors creaking with the current of their movement. Sereda shuddered at the iron bars, her mind going unwillingly to Orzammar. She buried the feelings by gripping the hilt of her dagger as hard as she could. Her heart beat started to slow and she counted it a victory.

At the last cell, a voice called out, timid and breathless. “Hello? Who’s there? Is there anyone… alive out there?” Sereda and her group reached the occupied cell, a man huddled in the corner. He jolted upright at their appearance and Sereda noticed the mage’s robes he wore. She also saw the fading bruises on his cheeks and the bandages wrapping his hands.

The mage regarded them with a raised brow. “You don’t look like the arlessa’s guards… Are you from outside the castle?” 

“Possibly,” Sereda muttered, hands going to the lock. “Who are you?”

The mage bowed, wincing as he did. “My name is Jowan. Lady Isolde hired to tutor Connor. Until they, uh…” He gestured around him with a sheepish grin. “Threw me into the dungeon here.”

“You’re the one who poisoned the arl!” Alistair reached through the bars and grabbed Jowan by the front of his robe. Jowan’s eyes went wide and his hands flew up defensively.

“I’m not proud of it! I thought I was doing the right thing!”

Sereda gripped Alistair’s free arm tightly and murmured, “Let him go. It’s not worth it.” He let the mage free with a shove, stepping back with a glare.

“Are you the one who raised these dead?” Morrigan asked politely, as if discussing the Provings or the price of a bolt of cloth. Jowan shook his head violently.

“I… I know it looks suspicious, but I’m not responsible for the creatures and the killings! I was already imprisoned when all that began!”

Sereda opened her mouth to ask when exactly he’d been put in the dungeon, but once Jowan began to speak, it seemed impossible to stop him. “At first,” he said, beginning to pace, “Lady Isolde came here with her men demanding that I reverse what I’d done. I thought she meant my poisoning the arl, so I told her there was nothing I could do. But that’s the first I’d heard about the walking corpses, honest! She thought I’d summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe. She… had me tortured. There was nothing I could do or say that would appease her, so they left me to rot!”

It seemed he had wound down enough to let the others speak. Sereda asked quickly, “Why did you poison Arl Eamon anyway? What do you have to gain?”

“I was instructed to by Teyrn Loghain,” Jowan looked down at Sereda, dark eyes watery with regret. “I was told Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden, that if I dealt with him Loghain would settle matters with the Circle.”

“What happened—” Sten began, but Jowan was already on his way to explaining.

“You see, I’m a maleficar; a blood mage.”

Sereda could almost hear Morrigan’s eye roll behind her. “You? A blood mage? Truly?”

Alistair did not find it nearly as hard to believe. He jerked forward again, and only Sereda’s hands on his arm kept him from grabbing Jowan again.

The mage shrugged, half-nonchalant and half-fearful. “I… dabbled in the forbidden arts, and the Circle condemned me to death for it. I thought Loghain was giving me a chance to… redeem myself…” He sunk to the floor with a moan. “But he’s abandoned me here, hasn’t he? Everything’s fallen apart, and I’m responsible! I have to make it right, somehow, I have to!”

Sereda regarded him with a cocked brow. She’d never known a villain so full of remorse. “Why are you so eager to make things right?” She asked, suspicion crinkled in her eyes.

“I’m not allowed regrets? I made a stupid mistake at the Circle, and now I’ve made an even greater one.” He ambled up, and came to the bars, wrapping his fingers around the iron and gazing down at Sereda pleadingly. “I’m not a bad person. There’s no reason for you to believe me, but I’m not.”

Sereda nodded unconsciously. Somehow, she believed him. Whether it was some quality of his voice or the turn to his eyes, she found herself sympathetic. She pushed it aside, her mind still whirling with questions. Something still did not seem right…

Alistair was thinking along the same lines. He asked, “But why did the arlessa hire you anyway? Why would she need a mage to tutor her son?”

Jowan grimaced. “Connor had started to show… signs. Lady Isolde was terrified the Circle would take him away from her.”

“Connor?” Alistair shook his head, looking from Sereda to Jowan in turn. “A mage? I can’t believe it!”

“She sought an apostate to teach her son in secret so he could learn to hide his talent. The arl had no idea.”

“Arl Eamon had _no_ idea of his son’s abilities?” Sereda could not believe a man could be so blind to not notice his son was a mage.

The mage was vehement. “Lady Isolde was very clear he was never to find out. She said if he knew, he’d do the right thing, even if it meant losing their son.”

“Perhaps the boy is responsible for what happened,” Sten suggested reasonably. 

Jowan nodded, the ghost of a smile on his bruised face. “I thought that, too. He has little knowledge of magic, but he may have done something to tear open the Veil to the Fade. Spirits and demons could infiltrate the castle. Powerful ones could even create those walking corpses.”

“How much magic did you teach Connor? Anything that would explain this?”

Jowan shook his head. “He’s still very young. He can barely cast a minor spell—never mind something as powerful as this. At least, not intentionally. Look, I never meant for it to end up like this. I swear.”

Sereda turned to her companions, conflicted. _It all makes sense_ , she thought. Certainly more than Isolde’s story had; she’d said the mage had unleashed something that was holding them all hostage and he wouldn’t reverse it. A mother would say anything to protect their child. Sereda did not want to expose Isolde’s lies, but she worried it would be the only way to fix the whole mess.

Sten crossed his arms, looking over Sereda’s head at Jowan. “I say kill the mage. He cannot be trusted.”

“He doesn’t need to die, surely…” Sereda said, turning to regard Jowan. He gave her a strange sort of smile and she nodded back.

Morrigan shrugged. “I say this boy could still be of use to us. But if not, then let him go. Why keep him prisoner here? They will surely continue to torture him.”

“Hey, hey!” Alistair interjected. “Let’s not forget he’s a blood mage! You can’t just… set a blood mage free!”

“Better to slay him? Better to punish him for a choice? Is this the Warden who speaks, or the templar?”

Alistair took a sharp breath in through the nose, struggling to keep his calm. “I’d say it’s common sense. We don’t even know the whole story yet. We don’t have to _kill_ him, but we certainly don’t have to let him out.”

Sereda was looking about, mind already made up. She found the jailer’s keys by the door and started to thumb through them. “I’m letting you out,” she declared, the first two keys she’d tried failing to unlock the door. _If Leliana was here, she could just pick the lock,_ she thought ruefully as she went to the next. “Don’t try anything.”

“You’re letting me out? And what then?” Jowan sounded relieved, but his eyes were darting between the foursome.

“You come with me, that’s what. We’re going to find the arlessa and sort this all out.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea… I’d like to help out, but… I’m not so sure I want to follow you into danger, exactly.” He grimaced as he said it, his cheeks going pink at sudden cowardice.

She planted her hands on her hips, the keys jangling as they hit her armor. “Beggars can’t be choosers. Come with me or stay there.”

Jowan backed into the corner of his cell. “Then I’ll wait here. If you need to speak with me, I’ll be here.”

“Fine!” Sereda tossed the keys down to the ground with an angry huff and kicked them to the other side of the dungeon, cursing as her toes reminded her of her injuries. She stomped from through the dungeon to a staircase, motioning to the others to follow.

There were a few more pockets of the corpses along the way, but the crew dispatched them easily enough. The lower levels opened up to a courtyard, hot sunlight beating down to draw sharp shadows. The grand entry to the main hall lay across the way. Sereda leaned against a tree, suddenly exhausted. _May the Stone prop me up_ , she prayed, shoving off with a yawn. What she wouldn’t give for a nap… Alistair and Morrigan were just as bleary-eyed, though Sten kept any fatigue well hidden. Sereda nearly tripped over her own feet on their way up the steps to the entrance, Morrigan catching her with a sad smile. _Let us deal with this mess and take a well-deserved rest_.

Alistair pulled open the large fortified doors with a bittersweet smile. “It’s been quite some time since I last stepped foot in here,” he murmured as Sereda passed him. She managed to suppress another yawn and turned it into a nod. They followed his lead to the main hall.

It was an immediately unsettling tableau, and Alistair threw out an arm to keep Sereda and the others from going any further. She pushed ahead anyway; her brow knit in confusion. A fire was roaring, despite the warmth of the day, and Sereda first noted the sweat on all the faces in the hall. A huddle of guards stood next to the fire, shifting from foot to foot and mopping their brows surreptitiously. Isolde and Teagan sat on the ground, the former weeping into her hands and the latter bouncing his head as if music was playing. Many pairs of eyes flitted to the group briefly as they entered, but all attention returned to focus on a small boy standing in front of the fire. He turned slowly at their approach, the fire casting a red halo about him.

“So, these are our visitors? The ones you told me about, Mother?” When Connor spoke, it was as if another duetted, invisible to them. The strange harmonics, the high whine of a child coupled with a deep, sonorous tone, raised the hair on Sereda’s neck.

“Y-yes, Connor,” Isolde stammered, shame crossing her features. _This is what she was hiding_.

“And this is the one,” he said with a jabbing finger towards Sereda, “who defeated my soldiers? The ones I sent to reclaim _my_ village!”

Sereda could not help but gape at him, transfixed by the disconcerting voice. Connor’s jaw dropped as well, his shock tinged with rage. “And now it’s staring at me! What is it, Mother?” He yanked Isolde forward by the arm and she cried out in shock.

She looked up to her son, speaking between gulping breaths. “This is a dwarf, Connor. The Warden Sereda. You… you’ve seen dwarves before. We’ve had them here at the castle…”

“Had them for dinner, maybe!” He laughed viciously at his joke and cocked his head to study Sereda. “Looks like a tough chew, but maybe in a nice stew… Shall I send it to the kitchen, Mother?” The guards moved forward tentatively, one of them shaking his head as he did so.

“C-Connor, I beg you, don’t hurt anyone!” She grasped her son’s hand and Sereda felt her heart constrict. This was far worse than she’d feared.

In an instant, the boy changed. His features softened, his eyes widening in panic. He knelt to his mother’s side, clutching at her dress. His mouth chattered, as if freezing, the demonic undertone vanished. “M-mother? What—what’s happening? Where am I?”

She melted around him, wrapping her arms about his small body and burying her face in his hair. “Oh, thank the Maker! Connor!” Sereda could see him stiffen in her arms, and Isolde looked to the sky with a murmur. He shoved her away and scrambled to his feet.

“Get away from me, fool woman! You are beginning to bore me!” The undercurrent had returned to his words and Isolde flinched to hear it.

Sereda moved her hand to the dagger at her hip, goosebumps running up her arms. Connor was not in his right mind, clearly, and he was starting to seem more and more dangerous. Isolde saw the Warden’s fingers wrap around the hilt and she reached out desperately.

“Please, Grey Warden! Please don’t hurt my son! He’s not responsible for what he does!”

“I have no intention of hurting him,” she said evenly, sliding the dagger from its sheath. She could hear the slip of Alistair’s sword behind her, and she knew she wasn’t alone in her trepidation.

“I wish I could say the same,” Connor said with a sneer. “Wait, no I don’t!” Teagan laughed along with his nephew, clapping his hands in front of him.

Isolde ignored them, pleading with Sereda. “Connor didn’t mean to do this! It was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon! He started all this! He must have summoned the demon! Connor was just trying to help his father—”

Sereda could hear the fury in Morrigan’s voice as she interrupted, “And made a deal with the demon to do so? Foolish child!”

“It was a fair deal!” The demon’s voice snapped from Connor’s mouth, the boy’s eyes briefly flaring bright purple. He shut his eyes and shook his head vigorously, continuing, “Father is alive, just as I wanted. Now it’s my turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world! Nobody tells me what to do anymore!”

“Nobody tells him what to do! Ha-ha!” Teagan mimicked with a grin. Connor smacked him upside the head, but it didn’t dampen the bann’s spirit.

“Quiet, uncle! I warned you what would happen if you kept shouting!” The boy took a deep breath as Sereda reached for her other blade. “Let’s keep things civil! This dwarf will have the audience it seeks! Tell us, dwarf… what have you come for?”

Sereda turned to the others, taking note of their faces. Sten’s head was tilted and lips pursed in annoyance, Morrigan’s brow was furrowed in rage, and Alistair’s eyes were turned with worry. She looked back to Connor and bowed her head slightly. Again, she spoke evenly, calling out, “I came here to help, if I could.”

“To help me? To help Father? To help yourself? Which?” Connor demanded, taking a step forward. Sereda slid back, her companions doing the same.

“I want to help you, of course,” Sereda replied, whirling her daggers into their battle-ready positions.

Connor stamped his foot, an alarmingly childlike look flitting over his features. “I don’t need help! I can do everything all by myself. Isn’t that right, Mother?”

The arlessa stammered, eyes searching her son’s face. “I… I don’t—I don’t know…”

“Of course you don’t. Ever since you sent the knights away, you do nothing but deprive me of my fun. Frankly, it’s getting dull.” He motioned to the guards with a flick of the wrist, and they began to advance, eyes dark. Teagan leapt up as well, unsheathing his sword with a mad grin.

“I crave excitement! And action! This dwarf has spoiled my sport by saving that stupid village, and now it’ll repay me! Guards!” The men ran towards the foursome, and Sereda leapt into action.

“Don’t hurt them!” Alistair shouted, pushing one guard away with his shield and another with his shoulder. “They’re good men, I swear!”

“You want us to fight them, without maiming them?” Sten called back incredulously. He swung his axe, nearly decapitating a guard at his elbow.

Sereda watched as Alistair kicked one guard’s leg out from under him and planted a foot on his chest. “Well don’t kill them, at least.” Sten rolled his eyes and tossed his axe, punching the guard square across the jaw.

She tried to get in the mindset of a Proving battle. You wanted to best your opponent, not slaughter them. _If only I had my powders..._ She knocked one of the guards to the ground, smashing the hilt of her dagger between his eyes. His body went limp, but he seemed to still live, and she moved on with a self-satisfied grin. Two more men advanced on her and she searched her mind for a good way to knock them out. She didn’t need to, though, as Sten stalked up behind them and smacked their heads together, both falling to the stone floor with a solid thump.

Morrigan had an easy time of it, casting a cage around one of her attacker. She gave Sereda a pointed yawn that morphed into a gleeful grin as she conjured an ice storm above the guard.

Alistair, on the other hand, was clearly struggling with his own instructions. He and Teagan circled one another, the young man’s face apprehensive. “Teagan," he pleaded, "I know you’re in there. Please don’t make me fight you.” The bann lunged forward and Alistair dodged to the left. He grimaced and adjusted his shield with a pained look towards Sereda. 

“Enough of this!” Sten grabbed a large vase from a shelf and smashed it over Teagan’s head, the bann slumping to the floor. The insane grin was finally wiped from his face.

Connor ran from the room just as his uncle fell, his laugh echoing behind him. Sereda went to chase him, but Isolde appeared at her side, a firm hand clutching Sereda’s arm.

“Please! Connor’s not responsible for this! There must be some way we can save him!” Sereda yanked out of her grasp but sheathed her swords, placating. The guards started to rouse and Alistair helped Teagan to his feet with a sheepish grin. The bann rubbed his head and glared at Sten, but went to Isolde and held her, stroking her hair with a murmur as she sobbed.

Morrigan approached, muttering to Sereda. “Clearly, the child is an abomination. There is only one way to stop it.” 

Isolde overheard and pulled from Teagan’s arms with a cry. “He is not always the demon! You saw, Connor is still inside him, and sometimes he breaks through! Please, I just want to protect him!”

“Isn’t that what started this,” Alistair spat, sheathing his sword. “You hired the mage to teach Connor in secret… To _protect_ him. This would have all been prevented if you'd just told Arl Eamon the truth—”

“Alistair,” Isolde's voice was kind, but he flinched at his name across her lips. “If they discovered Connor had magic, then they’d take him away! I thought if he learned just enough to hide it, then…”

Sereda huffed, ignoring the stricken look on the arlessa’s face. She looked to the others. “What are our options? This all clearly won’t stop unless we do something.”

Alistair’s brow crinkled. “I wouldn’t normally suggest slaying a child, but…” He grimaced. “He’s an abomination. I’m not sure there’s any choice.”

Isolde shook her head with wide eyes. “No! You can’t! What… what about the mage? He could know something! If he still lives, we could speak to him!”            

“He’s down in the dungeon, still alive,” Sten said in a tone that told Sereda how much he regretted that.

“Then bring him here immediately! I… I do not know how much we can trust him, but we must find out what he knows.” 

Alistair and Sten left without a word, the rest awkwardly standing in silence as the guards shuffled from the room at Teagan’s command. Alistair and Sten returned with Jowan in tow in short order and Sereda gave the mage a nod. _Here’s how you can help_ , she wanted to say, but the arlessa spoke first. 

“You’re lucky to be alive, Jowan, after all you’ve done.” She sounded so regal, so sure, that Sereda did a doubletake. The arlessa stood up straight now, the tears rubbed from her cheeks. Sereda could see a flicker of the woman who had forced Alistair from his home, and she glared, her heart hardening. Any sympathy she had for Isolde fled at the reappearance of Jowan's beaten face. 

Jowan bowed his head in deference, speaking to his feet. “They told me why you’re summoned me, my lady. The demon in Connor needs to be destroyed. Killing him is… the easiest way to do that certainly…” Teagan cleared his throat pointedly and Jowan rushed on, “But there is another way. A mage could confront the demon in the Fade, without hurting Connor himself!”

“What do you mean?” Teagan demanded. “Is the demon not within Connor?”

The mage shook his head, his eyes flicking up to Morrigan’s for a moment, looking for her supportive nod. “Not physically. I… I think the demon approached Connor in the Fade while he dreamt, and controls him from there. We can use the connection between them to find the demon.”

Isolde’s eyes lit up and she almost smiled as she asked, “You can enter the Fade, then? And kill the demon without hurting my boy?”

Jowan winced and hedged, “Well… no, but I can enable another mage to do so. It normally requires lyrium and several mages, but I have… blood magic,” he whispered, as though none of them yet knew.

“What difference does that make,” Sereda asked, impatience rising. She was growing exceedingly weary of the humans presuming she understood the magical realm. 

“Lyrium provides the power for the ritual. But I can take that power from someone’s life energy. The ritual requires a lot of it, however. All of it, in fact,” Jowan explained in a whisper.

“So… someone must die?” Teagan’s face went green as he asked. Isolde grasped his hand, her own features paling.

“Yes, and then we can send another mage into the Fade. Because I’m doing the ritual, I cannot…” He shook his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s… not much of an option.”

“I’ll do it!” Isolde declared, striding forward. “Either someone kills my son to destroy that thing inside him, or I give my life so my son can live. To me, the answer is clear!”

Teagan sputtered, pulling the arlessa back. “What? Isolde, are you mad?! Eamon would never allow this—”

“It does seem like a sensible choice, with a willing participant,” Morrigan whispered.

Sereda shook her head, hand going to rub her eyes. _This is all insane!_ “There must be another way to enter the Fade!”

“You can find lyrium and more mages at the Circle, if they would even do it…” Alistair suggested, his face showing his doubt. “The Circle Tower is not far from here.”

Her heart lifted some. “One of the treaties is also for the Circle of Magi, isn’t it?” _They’ll have to help_ , she thought with determination, _whether they like it or not._

Teagan nodded, relief putting color back in his cheeks. “The tower is about a day’s journey across the lake. You could attempt to get the mages' help.”

Isolde shook her head. “But what will happen here? Connor will not remain passive forever! We might lose him completely!”

Sereda glared at the arlessa. “If it means saving your life, I will take that chance.” Isolde pursed her lips and nodded.

“Very well, we will keep Jowan here as a precaution. And we will keep an eye on Connor.” Teagan clasped Alistair’s arm and continued with a sigh. “Go to the tower quickly, then. The longer you are away, the greater the chances of disaster.” 

Sereda nodded gravely and led her band from the hall. _Is nobody on the surface capable of solving their own problems_ , she wondered with venomous heart and a hidden yawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos, views; it's all immensely appreciated! And with this chapter we're about halfway done! I can scarcely believe it!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next three chapters are a fair bit more violent/gorier than the rest of the work, so I wanted to warn you guys. Chapter 24 will pick up after the Circle, if you would like to skip ahead.

“So, we are just going to sail to this mage prison? I do not see the point—” Sten started to grumble at her, but Sereda’s patience snapped. She whirled back from the ferryman, and glared at Sten.

“Fine, then! You won’t come. Go back to camp.” Sten’s eyes widened and his shoulders slumped in confusion. Before he could say another word, Sereda pointed back to the main road. “Tell Salroka to come to the docks. You can keep watch over the others.”

“I…” Sten looked to Morrigan and Alistair, both regarding Sereda with the same surprise.

She went toe-to-toe with the qunari, finger whirling from the road to jab up towards his stammering face. For a moment, she could swear Bhelen was standing in front of her, complaining about the rules to their made-up games as children. She drew herself up as tall as she could and leveled, “I won’t listen to your whining another moment, Sten. You said in Lothering you’d follow me. If you don’t trust my judgment, then you can pout back at camp like a child.”

Sten narrowed his violet eyes down at her, nose crinkling in anger. But he relented silently, turning on his heel and storming down the road. Sereda took a deep breath in, then another, and turned back to the ferryman.

“Apologies, ser. We will need passage for four to Kinloch Hold on your next departing vessel,” she said brightly, pulling her purse from her hip.

“Well I’ll happily take ye to the docks, but Ser Greagoir won’t let anyone ‘cept the templars sail right up to the Tower.” The ferryman, Kester, counted her gold with a soft smile. “We can leave as soon as ye like, lass.”

She narrowed her eyes at the familiarity but didn’t push it. “Once my mabari arrives, we can be off.”

Kester’s eyes widened and his grin grew to match. “A mabari? Honest?” When she nodded, he handed her back a sovereign. “It’d be my pleasure to transport such a noble passenger!”

She took the returned gold willingly, but couldn’t help but wonder what an odd business principle it was to have. She plopped down onto the planks of the docks and Alistair and Morrigan joined her.  

“Are you all right?” Alistair murmured, nudging her shoulder with his. Her quizzical look prompted his clarification, “You seem a bit… cranky is all.”

She glared and crossed her arms before her chest. Alistair took the hint and began to whistle to himself, avoiding her ire. She knew he was right; she was more irritable than usual. _No sleep or food will do that to you_ , she fumed. She ignored the fact that the others all were going on as little sleep as she, that none of them had ate since they’d gotten to Redcliffe. Sereda sighed and looked to Alistair with flushed cheeks.

“Was that unreasonable?”

He pondered it a moment, leaning back on one hand and tapping his chin with the other. “I don’t think so, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a decision of yours I disagree with.”

Sereda giggled. “Good, another sycophant for my collection.”

“You _could_ be a bit more tactful, in the future, but we all need a good shout-down once in a while.”

Morrigan leaned over from her side of the dock and drawled, “Some more often than others.”

Alistair narrowed his eyes as Sereda laughed. “All right, all right. I promise I won’t shout at Sten anymore.”

Her companions shared a look and Sereda pushed them both lightly with a suppressed laugh. They fell into silence, each contemplating their own muffled complaints. The hour under the sun dragged on, and Sereda could feel the bridge of her nose burning. Leliana had explained that eventually the skin would heal and tan, but so far Sereda had only see it turn bright pink and flake off. She was opening her mouth to ask Morrigan if she knew any remedies for burnt skin, when Salroka loped up, barking happily.

They loaded themselves into the ferry with haste, Kester insisting Salroka sit next to him at the front. He pushed off with a wide grin, and they were on their way just before midday.  

Sereda wanted to talk with Alistair about what to expect from the Circle, but the warm sun and gently rocking of the ferry began to lull her to sleep. _No, there’s too much to discuss_. She gave a soft moan and tried to force her eyes open. But everything was so soft, so comfortable. She was sitting in front of Alistair, the craft was much too small for four adults and a mabari to sit spread about, but she found herself leaning closer and closer to him as her eyelids grew heavier.

“Just like home,” she murmured, her head slumping against Alistair’s arm.

She woke as slowly as she had drifted away, her body waking before her eyes opened. She was lying on something strong and sturdy, but what? She cracked an eye and saw the familiar brown of Alistair’s armor, her cheek pressed against his arm. She shut her eye and tried to keep her body relaxed. _How did we get like this_? She was lying in Alistair’s arms, one of his hands gently resting on her arm and the other near her dagger. She wondered if he was asleep as well, and a soft snore gave her the answer. She suppressed a giggle and went to move her legs, curious to feel herself pinned down.

She opened her eyes again to see Morrigan’s mop of hair in her lap, the mage’s blissful sleeping face turned up towards the sky. Sereda smiled down at her and resisted the urge to brush a lock of dark hair back, though it half hung in Morrigan’s mouth. Sereda shifted her back, pleased to see it didn’t wake her companions. She sighed at the sight of the sky, the sun nearly swallowed by the horizon. A large structure jutted from the water to the darkening clouds, and she hazarded a guess that was their destination. Salroka noticed that she’d woken and perked up, his tongue lolling out happily.

“Are we close?” she murmured to the ferryman.

“We’ll be to the docks soon enough, lass.”

_Lady_ , she again wanted to correct but she smiled regardless and settled back into Alistair’s arms. The first of the stars had appeared and she looked up at the sky to watch.

“It’s peaceful, out here,” Alistair whispered in her ear. She ignored the thrill down her spine and nodded. He lifted his arm from her side and pointed up.

“You see that star there? It’s the first one that appears from the ‘Maiden’. It was Duncan’s favorite constellation.”

The star twinkled in the navy sky, others near it beginning to faintly shine. “Constellations… that’s when you take the stars and find a picture in them, yes?”

Alistair nodded, his chin bumping the top of her head. “You can use them to navigate, but I prefer the stories people tell about them. They all have fancy names, but most folks just refer to this one as the Maiden. Cailan once declared that Anora was the living personification of her.”

Sereda turned and looked up at Alistair, who was grinning. “All great kings like to say that about their queens. Duncan told me though that astronomers think it was actually thought to be Urthemiel when Tevinter ruled here.”

“Urthemiel…?”

“The Old God of Beauty,” Alistair said with a sigh. They both looked back at the star, some of its neighbors starting to appear more solidly. “Either way, when the whole thing is visible, it looks like a woman, standing watch over the heavens. The Chantry says its Andraste, of course, but the Dalish say it’s a beautiful elf who fell in love with one of their gods. When she died, he scattered her among the stars so they would never be apart.”

Sereda grinned as her heart fluttered, enjoying Alistair’s poeticism. “Which part of the constellation is that, then? Her eye?”

Alistair was silent and when she turned to see why, she noted the reddening of his cheeks. She laughed and he joined in, grinning at one another. The thoughts from her tent returned; the curve of his lips was enticing, the strength of his brow… Alistair’s grin faded and his hand went to Sereda’s cheek. Her heart skipped several beats, and she was acutely aware of every inch of her skin, prickling with the tension.

He leaned down, eyes slowly shutting, when Kester shouted in front of them, “Here we are!” The Wardens sprang apart so quickly that Salroka fell from the ferry and Morrigan shrieked as her pillow was upended.

“Ancestor’s blood!” Sereda cursed, clutching to the wooden planks of the ferry, her heart hammering within its cage. The torches of the small dock lit their faces, and Sereda saw that Alistair’s cheeks was as glowing hot as hers. _Damn, damn, damn!_ She glared at Kester as she helped Morrigan up, the mage cursing a storm at the dwarf. The ferryman seemed oblivious, tying the craft to the dock with whistling lips.

 “I’ll be staying in the Spoiled Princess, over there, should ye have need of me. If the weather holds, I’ll be heading back to Redcliffe at first light,” Kester said lightly, laughing when Salroka shook the water from his fur. Sereda gave him a curt nod, fury beginning to abate, and turned to her human companions.

_We’ll talk about it later_ , she decided as she caught sight of Alistair’s still blood-red face. Morrigan’s eyes flitted between the two of the them, but Sereda cut her off before she could ask. “If they let us, we’ll spend the night in the tower and be back in Redcliffe midday tomorrow.”

“Let us hope that the boy is strong enough to resist whatever demon holds him for that long.”

“I wouldn’t think you would care what happened to Connor,” Sereda said, surprised at the concern in Morrigan’s voice. She narrowed her eyes down at her.

“Of course I care! He may be a fool, but ‘tis no fault of his that he doesn’t know how to navigate the world of the Fade! If mages were allowed to study freely, and teach their children without fear, he would never have done what he did.”

“I—I actually agree with that,” Alistair said with a wry grin. “Isolde shouldn’t have hidden it. Say what you will about the Circle, but at least they don’t have abominations around every corner.”

Sereda and Morrigan nodded solemnly. _And they’ll have beds_ , Sereda thought, trying to rally some cheer. _And hopefully some food_ , her stomach added, growling loud enough to catch Morrigan’s ear. Sereda smiled sheepishly. The trio strolled to the end of the docks, Salroka padding behind them, to a bored templar. He was swinging his sword back and forth lazily, but stood ramrod straight at their approach.

“You’re not looking to get across the tower, are you?” His voice cracked and Sereda suppressed a giggle. He looked hardly older than sixteen. “Because I have _strict_ orders not to let _anyone_ pass!”

Sereda tried not to roll her eyes. _Ancestors, either they only want me to help or they only want me to leave…_ “I am a Grey Warden and I seek the assistance of the mages.”

The templar’s brows shot up and he could hardly keep the excitement from his voice. “Oh, you’re a Grey Warden, are you? Prove it.”

Sereda’s brow knit in confusion. “Prove… it?”

Exuberance had been replaced by defiance. The templar gestured around them as he said, “Kill some darkspawn. Come on. Let’s see some righteous Grey Warden…ing.”

Alistair drawled from behind her, “There aren’t any darkspawn here.”

The templar shrugged. “That’s good, I suppose. Anyway, it was nice chatting with you. Now on your way.”

Sereda cracked her knuckles significantly and the templar’s eyes widened. “I warn you, my patience is wearing thin.”

He gulped and shrugged. Stammering, he replied, “Uhhh… is that bad? Look, uh, I’m just trying to do my job. I—I’ll take you right now… just like you wanted.”

“Yes, please do,” Morrigan chimed in and they followed him onto his boat.

It was a silent boat ride, and Sereda could feel Alistair’s eyes on her. She avoided his gaze, her frustration rearing its head once more. They’d been so close… She shut her eyes with a heavy sigh. _It doesn’t matter, regardless,_ she lamented. _We’re going to just stay friends_. Her eyelids opened and she instinctually found Alistair’s face. He gave her a crooked half-smile and Sereda knew she was on loose dirt. She turned away and repeated her mantra, _just friends_.

The templar rowed them to a small landing below the tower, helping them off the boat with a pained expression. The templars guarding the door into the Circle proper put up much more resistance than their transport had, but eventually they decided that they weren’t qualified to turn them away. The templars led them through the doors and strode quickly, silently. As they reached the first level, Sereda noticed for the first time the strange energy of every templar they came across. It was as if they were guarding a secret that was near to bursting.

Their guides ushered them through another set of grand doors, swiftly shutting them behind them. Sereda immediately disliked the rushing about them, templars going to and fro with worried faces and tightly gripped weapons.

An older man stood among them, directing his panicked troops. “…and I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times. Do _not_ open them without my express consent!” His charges gave their affirmations and trotted off.

Alistair leaned down and whispered. “The doors are barred. Are they keeping people out? Or in?”

“Two guesses,” Morrigan murmured. Sereda’s quick glance at the mage’s face turned into a study. Morrigan’s bottom lip was between her teeth and she crossed and uncrossed her arms over and over, seeming to find neither comfortable. Sereda cursed herself. She’d been foolish to not address it…

“Morrigan,” she said softly, pulling the mage aside. “Nothing will happen to you here.”

She sputtered, eyes widening with her raised eyebrows. “I have no idea—”

“I promise, we won’t let them take you,” she vowed, squeezing Morrigan’s arm briefly. Her shoulders relaxed a hair and she nodded. She mouthed her thanks and Sereda turned back to the templars, a mask of authority settling on her face.

“Is this man in charge,” she asked, pointing. “May we speak with him?”

The man in question noticed them for the first time and marched over, already calling to them, “I am Knight-Commander Greagoir, if you’re seeking the one who is in control of this Circle. But we are dealing with a very delicate situation. You must leave, for your own safety!”

His templars moved towards them to usher them out, but Sereda jerked forward, towards their commander.

“But I seek the mages’ help to defeat the darkspawn!” She tried to keep the whining note from her voice, but it seemed impossible. “I must speak with whomever is in charge!”

Greagoir seethed and dismissed the templars nearest. “I am weary of the Grey Wardens’ ceaseless need for men to fight the darkspawn, but it is their right…”

“The Blight is here, and we have a treaty that must be fulfilled—” Sereda held the scroll aloft, frustration rising, but Greagoir’s sorrowful face silenced her complaint.

“You’ll find no aid here. The templars can spare no men, and the mages are…” He looked to another set of iron doors behind him and muttered, “Indisposed.”

When Sereda and Alistair exchanged a look, Greagoir heaved a sighed. “I shall speak plainly: the tower is no longer under our control. Abominations and demons stalk the halls. The Circle is lost; the tower is fallen.”

Sereda heard Alistair’s gasp and Morrigan’s groan behind her, and she clenched her teeth to keep her jaw from dropping. “What do you mean the Circle is lost? How did this happen?”

Greagoir shook his head, his voice cracking as he replied. “We don’t know. We saw only the demons, hunting templars and mages alike. I realized we could not defeat them and told my men to flee.”

“You should have fought them!” Sereda asserted, looking at the fully armed and armored templars around her. Some seemed to agree, nodding at her with pursed lips, but most stared with faces pale, as young as the boy who’d rowed them across the lake. Greagoir glared and he gripped the sword at his hip.

“They took us by surprise! We are prepared to deal with one or two abominations—not the horde that fell upon us.”

She contemplated then, following Greagoir’s command. Turning on her heel and marching down to Kester and heading back to Redcliffe. _Isolde can give her life_ , she reasoned. _She did volunteer, after all_. She cursed in her head and resigned herself. They would have to help if they wanted Eamon to ally with them against the Blight. Sereda sighed and rubbed her eyes. _Thank the Ancestors for that nap on the ferry._ She wasn’t sure when she’d get to sleep again. “What is your plan, then?”

Greagoir released his sword to rub at his grey beard. “I would destroy the tower, raze it to the ground, but I cannot risk more of my men. Those doors remain shut ad they will protect us for now.”

“You shut everyone in there? Including innocent mages?” Sereda didn’t attempt to mask the horror on her face. The doors over Greagoir’s shoulder were iron, Sereda guessed a few solid inches thick. She tried not to think of the Deep Roads, but she couldn’t help it, her skin prickling hot instantly. She swallowed hard and gripped her dagger. _Not now_ , she prayed and focused all of her attention on Greagoir’s indignant eyes.

“Not just mages, but my templars also! I had no choice. The abominations must be contained at all costs. I have sent word to Denerim, calling for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment.”

Alistair’s sharp intake of breath behind Sereda drew her eyes. He had gone white and he avoided meeting her gaze. This was clearly a last resort.

“What is this Right of Annulment?” She had a sinking feeling in her gut that told her she already knew.

Greagoir confirmed her fears. “The Right gives templars the authority to neutralize the mage Circle. Completely.”

Sereda had to yank Morrigan back by the arm as she rushed forward, one hand already going to her staff and the other crackling blue. Greagoir’s eyes widened, but Alistair intervened, his eyes downturned with his mouth.

“The mages are probably already dead, Sereda. Any abominations in there must be dealt with, no matter what,” Alistair said gently. Sereda shook her head in disgust and his face turned from sympathy to anger. He opened his mouth, but Greagoir spoke first.

“This situation is dire. There is no alternative—everything in the tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again.”

“Mages are not defenseless!” Morrigan shouted, pulling out of Sereda’s grip. “Some must still live!”

Greagoir narrowed his eyes at her. “If any are still alive, the Maker Himself has shielded them. No one could have survived those monstrous creatures. It is too painful to hope for survivors and find… nothing.”

Sereda lost the last shred of her temper. “But it was you who shut them all in!”

“And what was I to do?” Greagoir shouted back. His templars flinched at his voice, but Sereda marched past her companions to stand directly before him. “Should I have left the door open as the abominations poured out?”

“He’s right,” Alistair agreed, going to stand next to the Knight-Commander. “All the Circles have doors like these, to prevent abominations from… getting loose.”

Greagoir addressed him directly, ignoring the seething women. “Denerim must have received our message—it cannot be much longer.”

Sereda shook her head, trying to rein in her fury. “There must be something we can do!”

“You? What can you do?”

“People in there need help, need healing,” she insisted, pointing. “You can’t abandon them!”

“It is the innocent folk of Ferelden who matter. I would lay down my life, and the life of any mage, to protect them. No abomination must cross this threshold.”

Sereda stomped to the doors, glaring down the templars keeping guard. She looked over her shoulder at the commander and her companions. “I must try. It is the right thing to do.”

“Once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain barred. I will open them for no one until I have proof that it is safe. I will only believe it is over if the First Enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving has fallen…” Greagoir took a sharp breath. “Then the Circle is lost, and must be destroyed.”

Sereda nodded and motioned to the templars to open the doors for her. Stale air hit her face and she nearly swooned, but she stepped through them all the same. Morrigan followed swiftly, Alistair lagging behind with knit brow. Salroka was beside Sereda, his body tense.

When the doors shut behind her, Sereda’s heart began to pound, and the clunk of the dead bolt sent a sick thrill through her spine. She shut her eyes and struggled to breathe through it, to think of her surroundings, to not focus on the trapped panic rising in her chest. She reached for Salroka, brushed his coarse fur with the tips of her fingers, and some of the dread eased. Some.

“Sereda?” Alistair checked on her with a soft murmur and she jerked her eyes open.

“Let’s get this over with,” she fumed, taking confident steps forward.

The horrors within the Circle revealed themselves quickly enough. Even in the flickering torch light, they found not ten feet from them the bodies of a mage and a templar, blood spreading slick across the stone. Alistair took a moment to pray for them as Morrigan and Sereda started to search the mage’s quarters the bodies lay before. Salroka went first, sniffing for survivors, but there were none to be found among the unmade bunks and abandoned parchments.

They continued on, each step dropping Sereda’s heart further in dread. Blood smeared on walls, viscera strewn over torches and hanging from bedposts; they had to stop for Alistair to catch his breath and for Sereda to press down the fear coiling behind her rib cage. Morrigan did her best to appear unaffected, but Sereda caught how sharply she pet Salroka’s head when she thought nobody was looking.

Still, they pressed on. When a demon flowed out from a room at their right, they slew it as easily as they’d taken down any bandit. But as its twisted form shimmered and contracted, leaving only a small purse of ash behind, Sereda could not keep the whimper behind her lips. Alistair laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and looked down at her, grim.

“The only way through is forward.” She nodded and the four rounded the corner towards the stairs. _What will we discover here?_  

A group of mages huddled in the center of a large room, children and adults alike. The youngest of them shrieked at their appearance, and their protectors whirled around, staffs at the ready. Sereda and her companions were so surprised by the appearance of live mages that they took a collective step back; Salroka giving a warning bark.

“Come no further! I will strike you down where you stand!” An elderly woman strode forward, her hands glowing the same green as the tip of her staff. She flung her arms out to shield the children behind her as she said it, and Sereda threw her hands up defensively.

“We’re not here to fight you!”

“What are you doing here, then? You aren’t templars.” The suspicion was clear, and two of the other adults shepherded the children further away, out of earshot. They all wore faces of terror and Sereda tried her best to relax her own features. The mage’s face relaxed a hair as she studied them. “You were at Ostagar; you’re Grey Wardens.”

Alistair answered the mage’s question. “We came here seeking the aid of the mages against the Blight.”

The old woman’s eyes widened and her hands returned to their normal hue. She nodded to them and her charges with a noticeable look of relief. “And you were told the Circle was in no shape to help you, I suppose. But why did the templars let you in? Do they plan to attack the tower now?”

She sounded resigned and ready. Sereda quickly allayed some of her fears. “The Right of Annulment hasn’t arrived. Greagoir says if I can find the First Enchanter alive, then he will declare the Circle safe.”

The mage nodded. “So, he thinks we are beyond hope. He probably assumes we are all dead.” She sighed and leaned against a stone pillar. “They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived. If they invoke the Right, however, we will not be able to stand against them.”

Sereda looked around the room; nausea swelled in her throat as she caught sight of the dead children piled in one corner and the scattered ashes about the floor. For the first time, Sereda noticed the streaks of blood on the faces of the living; a young boy scrubbed at a spot on his robes vigorously until another pulled his hands away. Clearly, their survival was not easily won. She turned her attention away from them to the features of the room. It looked to be a foyer of some sort, grand high ceilings arching like those of Orzammar above them, benches and couches lining the walls. Across from them was another door, the edges of it shimmering and crackling vibrant blue. Blood spattered across the walls and floors, and Sereda had to suck in a deep breath through her teeth to keep her stomach from betraying her.

“What happened here,” she murmured, moving closer to the older mage.

The older woman sighed again and stood, her voice cutting as she said, “Suffice it to say that we had something of a revolt on our hands, led by a mage named Uldred. When we returned from the battle at Ostagar, he tried to take over the Circle. As you can see, it didn’t work out as he had planned.” She waved a hand towards the slaughtered bodies and shook her head. “I don’t know what became of Uldred, but I am certain all this is his doing. I will not lose the Circle to one man’s pride and stupidity.”

“So, what do you intend?” Alistair asked tersely.

“I erected a barrier over the door leading to the rest of the tower, so nothing from inside could attack the children. If you join with me to save this Circle, I will dispel it. Even if we cannot eliminate all the demons and abominations, together, we could lead the survivors out. There was another mage, Niall, who was looking for Irving, or anyone else who could help.” She took a deep breath and rubbed her forehead for a moment before continuing. “Once Greagoir sees that we have made the tower safe, I trust he will tell his men to back down. He is not unreasonable.”

_Locking survivors in a tower doesn’t seem reasonable,_ Sereda wanted to add, but she nodded with pursed lips.

“Will the children be safe here?” There were four young children, one Sereda guessed to only be around five, as well as a few teenagers.

The old woman nodded and motioned to the other two adults. “Petra and Kinnon will watch them. If we slay all the fiends we encounter on our way, none will get by to threaten them.”

Sereda looked to Salroka, who was patrolling the room. “We can leave my mabari here, too, if you want.” Salroka looked to his master and padded over to the children, sitting unceremoniously. The youngest reached a tentative hand out and Salroka nudged it with his massive head, eliciting a giggle.

“Thank you, Warden. I’m sure he will be a comfort to the children.” She turned and called to the other mages with a patient smile. “Petra, Kinnon, look after the others. We will be back soon.”

Petra rushed forward, pushing a strand of dark hair behind a pointed ear. “Wynne… are you sure you’re all right? You were so badly hurt earlier. Maybe I should come along.”

The old mage, Wynne, cupped the elf’s cheek and replied evenly, “The others need your protection more. I will be all right. Stay here with them and keep them safe and calm.”

Petra nodded with pursed lips and went back to the others. Wynne turned and gave her own firm nod to Sereda.

“Let us be off, then. We have talked away enough time,” Morrigan declared, marching across the room to the glowing blue door.

“Yes,” Wynne said as she followed readily. “Let us go and end this.”

She opened the door to reveal the whole barrier, sparking and undulating before them. Sereda reached toward it, but Alistair yanked her hand back.

Wynne went on. “I am somewhat amazed at myself for having kept it in place this long.” She chuckled briefly before her tone went serious. “Be prepared for anything. I do not know what manner of beasts lurk beyond this barrier. Are you ready?”

Sereda glanced at Alistair, who gave her a short nod. Morrigan pursed her lips and nodded as well. “We’re ready,” Sereda declared, unsheathing her daggers. “Destroy the barriers.”

Wynne waved her arms as her lips whispered an incantation, and the barrier blinked away, leaving only a dark hallway before them. Sereda took a tentative step forward, a distant roar sounding ominously. _Ancestors, guide me_ , she prayed as she took a second step, and another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! These are a dark few chapters, as you can imagine, but I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, fawned over, and loved.


	22. Chapter 22

She hated that after a short time, the smell of the bodies was easy to ignore. The mutilated corpses, some still twitched beneath demonic fingers, became almost a normal sight. Sereda and the others destroyed any demons they encountered, though a few attempted to bargain. As they went further in the tower, Sereda found herself growing calm. It would get no worse, _how could it_? She saw the body of a young mage, half propped against a bookshelf, and half across the room, blood linking the two. _It can’t get worse than this_.

That was, until they came across their first abomination. It hulked above them, it’s body pulsing with each breath. The mouth of the mage was gone, skin and sinew sealing the lips shut. Only one eye was visible, and the red and black of it focused its terrible magic on them. Alistair charged forward, dispelling its mana before it could cast against them, and lopped off its head. The body crumpled, spurting black blood, and Sereda doubled over to vomit.

Wynne patted her back gently. “We need to press on. Irving is somewhere in here, and we must rescue him.” Sereda nodded and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, shamed. _Here I am, sick, while this old woman has nerves of steel._ She took a deep breath and shut her eyes. _I am a dwarf, untouched by magic._ She led them past the jerking corpse and up a set of stairs to the next level.

The second level held as little charm as the first. More demons stalked the halls, raising corpses and transforming the living into abominations to do their bidding. Morrigan summoned a snowstorm in one room, shouting in fury as an abomination half their height did its best to curse them. When Sereda tried to comfort her, the witch shoved her away and stomped off silently.

They did not find Irving, so they moved on. The grand iron doors to the third floor did not open easily, and Sereda and Alistair tumbled in first when they finally gave way. As they righted themselves, they came face to face with a demon, towering above. It grumbled at them. Sereda tried to reach for her swords, but it was if she moved in cooled magma, her limbs resisting all her efforts. The demon’s black eyes regarded them lazily, and it slowly flicked off a bit of flesh from its shoulder before addressing them.

“Oh, look,” it droned. “Visitors. I’d entertain you but… too much effort involved.” It sighed and sunk to the floor. Somehow it managed to look worn-down, even as it picked at the body at its feet.

“Killing demons,” Sereda panted, her words strained. It felt as though a bronto sat upon her chest; each breath exhausted her. “…is enough entertainment for me. Thanks.”

She struggled to keep her eyes open as the demon replied, its dual tone daring to sound _bored_. “But why? Aren’t you tired of all the violence in this world? I know I am.”

_I am tired_ , she thought, leaning against a wall as her legs began to shake. _Why am I so tired_?

“Wouldn’t you like to just lay down and… forget about all this? Leave it all behind?”

Sereda slid to the floor, eyes going to Alistair’s. His eyes were half closed and he shook his head slowly as he murmured, “Can’t… keep my eyes open. Someone… pinch…me…” He collapsed to the floor, his head landing on Sereda’s shins with a dull thunk.

Morrigan was faring no better, but her tone was still sharp. “This is ridiculous. You cannot expect me to rest on a floor sticky with blood…” Despite her protests, she too went to the ground, her glare softening to blank stone.

Wynne grasped Sereda’s shoulders, the tight grip of her fingers loosening with each word. “Resist,” she warned. “You must resist, else we are all lost…”

Her companions asleep around her, Sereda could hardly be expected to stay awake, could she? _No! I must stay awake! I must…_ Her thoughts were drifting. _Resist…_

“Why do you fight,” the demon cooed, slowly floating to stand. “You deserve more… You deserve a rest.”

_No_ , she tried to shout, but her mouth was slacking open. She didn’t have the energy to shut it. The demon’s words were the last she heard before drifting to sleep.  “The world will go on without you.”

* * *

With a start, Sereda’s eyes flew open and she found herself staring at her feet. She shook her head, confusion winning out in the mélange of emotions in her mind. She looked up to the see the fortress around her, the walls shimmering as they always did. _Wait_ , it didn’t seem right to her, but she couldn’t say how. She walked forward, her gleaming silver and blue armor clinking with each step.

She was at the end of the grand hall, her comrades smiling and waving before fading into darkness, as usual. She stared at one elven man, tried to study why he was so disarming, but he vanished into a cloud before she could figure it out. She shrugged. _I can figure it out later_. There was something she needed to do; it prickled the back of her mind the way her scalp did when she finally unpinned it for the evening. She shook it off. _I’m sure I’ll remember_.

Sereda looked before her and her face broke into a grin. Her commander, Duncan, stood with outstretched arms, chuckling. She let him envelop her in a hug, but an alarum rang out between her ears. _He doesn’t smell_. It was a strange thought, but she considered it. He didn’t smell of man, of camp fires and slain animals. A vision of another life flashed before her eyes, of screeching darkspawn and driving rain. She tried to push it away, but she felt herself frowning.

Duncan looked down at her with a smile. “Ah, here you are. I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

The feeling of Alistair’s hand in hers, tears mirrored on their cheeks, swam up. She studied the bearded face above her. “You… you should be dead?”

_Should he_? It was such an odd idea. Duncan couldn’t be dead; the same went for the Wardens behind her. They were all safe here… _Where is here, exactly_?

“Dead? Me?” Duncan laughed and pulled Sereda back in, planting a kiss on her scalp. “I have been close many times, but I never quite made it all the way.”

He stepped back and threw his arms out wide with a grin to match. “I just wanted to make sure you were happy here, in Weisshaupt. These grand halls were built by the first Grey Wardens. Isn’t it breathtaking?”

Sereda looked to the ceiling, hundreds of feet above them and sighed happily. The green stone pillars crumpled and rebuilt themselves before her eyes and she found herself nodding. But a flash of another pillar, supporting an old, weary woman, crossed her eyes. She shook her head sadly and looked back to Duncan.

“I don’t know… Something doesn’t seem… right.”

Duncan pecked her forehead, pulling back with a bright smile. “Everything is as it should be. We have eradicated the darkspawn, and the world is at peace.”

“We eradicated the darkspawn?” It sounded odd, but she trusted him. It’s why she had joined the Wardens, why she’d come to Weisshaupt, right?

“Ostagar was a triumph for all of us, bringing down the archdemon and setting the underground lairs ablaze.”

Ostagar was a familiar word, and Sereda could clearly see the half-ruined fortress littered with the bodies of darkspawn. _But how did I get here, then?_ She had no memories of a trip across Thedas to where dusty Weisshaupt sat. For the first time, she felt alone. _Where’s Alistair?_ She whirled around, looking for his brown eyes. _This can’t be right, not without him_.

“It’s not possible. Where’s Alistair?” Her heart had begun to race again. When Duncan didn’t respond, she snapped, “You’re hiding something from me!”

 Duncan’s demeanor changed instantly. His eyes went dark and his voice boomed out through the hall, “Foolish child. I have given you so much and you cast it back in my face. Can you not be content with the peace I offer?”

The strange duet in his voice reminded her of Connor, and suddenly the world around her sharpened into focus. “The Circle! This isn’t real! You offer complacency, not peace!”

Duncan laughed, a twisted and dark mockery coming from a cruel smile. “It seems only war and death will satisfy you. So be it! Have your war and your darkspawn! May they be your doom!”

He drew his blades and lunged; Sereda ducked under the arc of one dagger and went to unsheathe her own dagger to parry the other, but found her hip bare. She rolled to the right, whipping back to deliver a solid punch to the apparition’s torso. It shrieked, inhuman, and Sereda could finally see through the façade; this wasn’t Duncan. The blades transformed into clawed fingers and the demon attacked again.

“Shit, shit!” Sereda shouted, taking off down the melting hallway. The Wardens reappeared as ghouls themselves, each reaching out to grab at her. She kept running though the hall continued to stretch and stretch with each step. One specter managed to pull her to the ground, and she could feel the bodies pressing down on her. Her lungs were burning under the weight of her attackers, her hair yanked this way and her legs another.

_Mother, save me!_ Her prayer bolstered her, and she struggled to her feet, stamping on the face of a Warden who looked like Jon. She looked about wildly, spotting a glowing pedestal a few yards off. The demon who was Duncan saw her gaze and surged forward with a screech. _It has to be the way out_.

She pushed through the squirming bodies and stumbled forward, each step surer than the last. The demon was rushing as well, just a hair closer, a hair faster…

Her finger brushed the pedestal just as the demon yanked her back, and the world was black for an eternity.

* * *

She slammed into the ground, the world bursting green for a moment. She sat up with a gasp, hands going instinctively to her hair, a shriek drawn from her in surprise as she found herself freed from the demon’s grasp. She scrambled to her feet and whirled about, shouting again as she caught sight of a man standing nearby.

He cowered for a moment before calling to her, voice shaking, “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

She took a step forward, weary of the man, and he did the same. His face relaxed as he caught sight of her face, his shoulders falling with his worried brow. “I see you’re not a demon. You’re like me. Congratulations on getting out of that trap.”

“What—by the Stone, who are you? What trap?”

The man wasn’t fazed by her confusion. He closed the distance between them and smiled down at her from below mussed red hair. “The demon traps everything that comes here in a dream it thinks they can’t—or won’t—try to leave.”

He motioned to a boulder and Sereda sat, silently thankful to be off her feet. The man went on, “I thought I’d escaped, too, but I’ve been wandering the Fade for what feels a lifetime.”

  _The Fade._ This was the place people went to in their dreams? She imagined more clouds, more sunshine. Everything was a sickly shade of green, the ground jutting to the sky and falling into a deep abyss in random, swirling patterns. She was glad to have no connection to it.

“If that demon trapped you here, does that mean you are a mage of the Circle?”

The man nodded and sat beside her on the rock. “Yes, my name is Niall. I was trying to save the Circle when I encountered the sloth demon.” He smiled. “I expect our experiences were similar.”

“Niall? Wynne mentioned you.”

Niall nodded. “Wynne helped me greatly, as did a Tranquil named Owain. I suppose I’ll never be able to repay them.”

“What were you trying to do before the demon got you?”

Niall stood up and began to pace. “Owain gave me a book, the Litany of Adralla. It was our weapon against the blood mages’ domination. But it’s too late. Everyone’s dead…”

“Not everyone,” Sereda proclaimed, standing as well. “There are some who yet live. Wynne, Petra, and Kinnon all live. But I must get back to them. Can you help me?”

Niall shook his head and covered his face with his hands. Between his fingers, he lamented. “The place drains you of everything… hope, feeling, life…”

She yanked his hands from his face and insisted, “We will find a way out, Niall!”

“No, there is no way out of here,” he said, frowning. “You think there might be, but you’d be wrong.”

He led her back to the pedestal, pointing to runes that encircled it. “You see these? I’ve studied them. They signify different islands of the sloth demon’s domain.” He pointed to one glowing rune and continued, “The sloth demon itself is on the center island, but you can’t get there. The five islands around it form some sort of protective ward.”

“We can travel to those ones, then, can’t we? With the pedestal? It took me from wherever I was to here!”

Niall shook his head. “I thought I was getting somewhere when I figured out the same thing, but each island has an obstacle. You’ll see a path, or a door, or even just a hallway, but you can’t get to it. It’ll just drive you mad…”

Sereda thought of Alistair and Morrigan, and asked hurriedly, “Could my companions be on these islands?”

Niall spoke with shrugged shoulders. “I… I don’t know. There are many dreamers. You might be able to find a way to reach them through the islands… if you’re lucky. But the sloth demon has placed lesser demons on each of the islands. They rule over them and protect the sloth.”

“Why would they help it? What do you know about this… sloth demon?”

“Not much. You couldn’t say we were friends, really.” Niall grinned at her glare and went on. “Demons have their own hierarchies, play their own games. The demon keeping us here probably rules this entire section of the Fade. It’ll not let us go easily, if at all.”

Sereda stared at the pedestal, her mind made up. She couldn’t sit by and wait for rescue. “It’s worth a try. I’m not going to die here.”

Niall’s eyes were reverent as he observed her. “Nothing dampens your spirit, does it? I don’t know whether to admire or pity you.”

Her fingers hovered over the pedestal and she straightened her back. “I’ll be back for you, Niall.”

His face was both a smile and a frown as the world faded from view.

* * *

She became a mouse to kill a siren. She became a golem to slay an ogre. Her body twisted and stretched into the horrifying form of an emissary to trap a rage demon. Her skeleton burned away all her flesh and that of an abomination. Finally, as the dwarf she was, she choked the life from the last demon, crying out in rage as it vanished from beneath her.

Somehow, she’d done it. It felt like weeks since she’d seen Niall. The Fade was a place of horror, every moment spent there stretching to infinity. Sereda couldn’t keep the tears from falling, crawling back to the pedestal. _Ancestors, get me out of here._ She wept as she thought of Morrigan, of Wynne. _Will I ever find them?_ She could hardly begin to think of Alistair anymore, though he’d flitted across her mind a dozen times or more as she fought her way through each island. In the moments of silence, or as she thought the life was nearly extinguished within her, she pictured his warm embrace, the slope of his nose. Now, it was too hard. Niall was right, there was no way out.

She reached the pedestal and sighed. _Let me find something_ , she prayed, pressing it with a flicker of hope.

There was a woman’s voice, down the path lying before her. Sereda thanked the Ancestors and limped forward, her heart leaping to her throat. _Wynne_. The old mage stood amongst a group of children, eyes up towards the heavens. Sereda had quickly learned to expect any sight in the Fade.

“Maker, forgive me,” she called, pulling one child to her bosom. “I failed them all. They died and I did not stop it.”

“But they’re not dead yet, Wynne,” Sereda murmured. Wynne heard her words and looked to the Warden’s face, seemingly unsurprised by her appearance. “The Circle can still be saved.”

Wynne shook her head. “Death. Can you not see it? It’s all around us.”

Sereda sighed and fell to her knees. Wearily, she tried again. “You’re in the Fade. This is a dream.”

Wynne ignored her, continuing her lamentations. Sereda rolled her eyes and shouted, “Can’t you tell this is the Fade? Aren’t you a mage?”

The old mage looked up with scrutinizing eyes. “The Fade? I… have not considered that. I have always had an affinity for the Fade, and I would assume I would be able to recognize it.”

She stood from the circle of children, studying the structures looming over her. “It is… difficult to focus,” she admitted. “It feels as though something is… stopping me from concentrating. I have never had so much trouble…”

“Don’t leave us, Wynne,” one of the children cried, grabbing her hand. “We don’t want to be alone!”

The touch drew Wynne from her dream and she looked down at the dead apprentices with clear eyes. “Holy Maker! Stay away, foul creature!”

Sereda struggled to her feet and reluctantly swam into the fray as the apprentices began to attack their teacher. _More demons to kill, it seems._

When the last of them lay still on the ground of the Fade, Wynne turned to Sereda with flushed cheeks. “Is it over? Thank the Maker for you. I would never have snapped out of it, I fe—” She started to go pale, and then turned translucent. Sereda groaned and did her best to grasp onto her newest companion, but her hands went through her nearly disappeared arms.

“Wait, what’s happening? Where are you going?” Wynne’s voice vanished with the rest of her and Sereda gave a heavy sigh. She turned and trudged back to the pedestal, slapping it hard enough to sting her palm.

* * *

“Away! Away with you! I shall have no more of your pestering!” Sereda nearly cried with relief at Morrigan’s shrill shouts, and she hurried towards the witch with a grin.

Morrigan stood facing an impossibly old woman. Flemeth shook her giant spoon at her daughter and cackled, “I am your mother! Do you not love me anymore?”

Her daughter scoffed and folded her arms. “You are as much my mother as my little finger, right here, is the queen of Ferelden! I know you, fade spirit, you cannot fool me!”

_Thank the Ancestors_. At least Morrigan had more sense than Wynne. _And you_ , she chided herself, thinking of how she accepted Duncan’s embrace. She shuffled forward with an unfurrowed brow.

Flemeth whirled back and Sereda could see the glint of her yellow eyes. “Are you more clever than your own dear mother? Surely such pride must be punished!”

She slapped Morrigan across the face and Sereda stopped in her tracks as though it had been her own cheek.

Morrigan laughed and shoved the spirit pretending to be her mother. “That is far more like it, but it is too little too late, spirit!” She whipped her eyes to Sereda’s and called out, “Come and rid me of this vexatious spirit! I weary of being prodded!”

“All right,” Sereda muttered, rushing toward them, “I’m coming.”

The would-be Flemeth was not as easy to banish as the children had been, but they were soon alone on the island. Sereda grabbed Morrigan’s hand tightly, ignoring the ire that crossed the witch’s face, and marched toward the pedestal.

“Tis about time,” Morrigan whined. “That was most—”

Sereda felt her hand clench itself as Morrigan’s disappeared. “No!” She turned back around just in time to see Morrigan’s golden eyes blink from view.

_I swear by the Stone that I will kill this sloth demon as slowly as I can_ , she seethed, kicking the pedestal with her broken toes.  The runes that represented the other islands had faded to grey stone, except for two. She placed her hand over one, hoping.

* * *

She was somewhat cheered, as the Fade came back to her, that she knew what to expect from this island. She did her best to trot towards the group of people standing about a cauldron, her face relaxing into a grin. A man stood above the rest, his laugh carrying to Sereda’s ears as surely as though the Ancestors themselves held it.

“Hey!” Alistair called, coming forward to grasp Sereda’s hands. “It’s great to see you again. I was just thinking about you, isn’t that a marvelous coincidence?”

Sereda tried to rein in her smile, but it was hard when she was looking into Alistair’s eyes. _He’ll know what to do_ , she was sure. He gestured to a blonde woman behind him, her face a twin to his. She stirred the contents of the cauldron and called to the children rushing about with a wide, kind smile.

“This is my sister, Goldanna!” Sereda pulled back to regard him. _A sister_? Was this a fantasy dreamt up by the sloth demon, or did Alistair have another secret family member?

He was undeterred by her shock. “These are her children! There’s more about somewhere, I swear!” He laughed and went to stand by the sister, throwing an arm over her shoulder. “We’re one big, happy family at long last!”

Her heart constricted. She did not want to pull him from this place he clearly wanted. But they had to leave, the mages needed them. “Alistair, get away from them. This is a trick.”

Alistair shook his head, his brow knit over his brown eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Goldanna looked at her brother’s face with the same kind smile. “Well, Alistair, is your friend staying for supper?”

He put his hands before him, pleading with his wide grin. “Say you’ll stay, dear! Goldanna’s a great cook! Maybe she’ll make her mince pie!” He looked down and asked, “You can, can’t you?”

She patted his cheek indulgently. “Of course, dear brother. Anything for you!”

Sereda could see how the smile shimmered, see the horns flicker above the golden locks. “We have to get away from here before this gets worse, Alistair,” she murmured, hedging closer.

Alistair left Goldanna’s side and went to Sereda’s, one hand going to feel her forehead. “Are you feeling all right? You’re acting really strangely.”

She huffed and grabbed his arms, shaking him. “Think about this and how you got here. Think carefully.”

Alistair pursed his lips and shut his eyes. “All right, if it makes you happy. I… it’s a little fuzzy. That’s strange…”

“Alistair, come and have some tea,” Goldanna called, the demonic undertone to her voice peeking out.

His eyes opened and he regarded his sister for a moment before turning back to Sereda. “No… wait… I remember a tower? The Circle… it was under attack… there were demons. That’s all I really remember.”

Sereda nodded encouragingly. “The sloth demon, do you remember that? He put us to sleep, put us in the Fade.”

He stammered. “Are you saying… this is a—a dream? Bu—but it’s so real!”

“Of course it’s real!” Goldanna shouted, stepping around the cauldron. “Now wash up before supper and I—”

Alistair shook his head and moved in front of Sereda, an arm going out protectively. “Something doesn’t feel quite right here. I… think I have to go.”

Sereda pulled on his arm, trying to hurry back to the pedestal before he, too, faded away. “Come with me, Alistair.”

“No!” Goldanna melted away, a spirit replacing her. “He is ours, and I’d rather see him dead than free!”

Alistair had his sword, thankfully, and once the trick was revealed, he unsheathed it to drive it through the spirit’s chest. It burnt away with a shriek and Alistair stood before the ashes, head hung low.

Sereda patted his arm before taking his hand, gently leading him to the pedestal. Alistair followed, willing, but dumbstruck. “How did I not see it earlier? They trained us to recognize traps like this…”

She shrugged and quipped, “I don’t know. Maybe we’re just not that intelligent.”

He laughed. “Yes, well. Try not to tell everyone how easily fooled I was.”

As she turned to agree, she cursed instead, watching as he started to go the way of the others. “Are we going now? Wait, where are _you_ going? What’s happening to—”

“Fucking great.” She studied the pedestal. Only one rune remained glowing now, and Sereda pressed it, hard.

* * *

A large field opened before her, and Sereda strode as quickly as she could. She was sick and tired of the Fade, had been for Stone-knows how long, and wanted to return to the Circle. _I’d take abominations and guts to this horrible place_.            

The demon who had trapped them was lying in the middle of a clearing, its eyes blinking slowly at her emergence from the grass. “What do we have here? A rebellious minion? An escaped slave?” It chuckled and Sereda resisted the urge to run forward and punch it. _In due time_.

“Playtime is over,” the demon warned, climbing to its feet. “You all have to go back now.”

At his words, Alistair, Wynne, and Morrigan reappeared, each looking about wildly. Alistair smiled and moved to her side, his hand clapping to her shoulder.

“Here I am! And here you are!” She grasped his hand in hers and found herself smiling to feel its solid warmth.

Morrigan was less pleased with her new location. “You made a dangerous enemy, demon, by toying with my mind!” She jabbed a finger toward the unimpressed sloth demon, glowering at his nonchalance.

Wynne pulled her staff from her back and called out, “You will not hold us, demon. We found each other in this place and you cannot stand against us.”

“If you go back quietly, I’ll do better this time. I’ll make you _much_ happier,” he droned, waving a hand.

Unbidden, an image of Alistair above her came to her mind. He was moaning and moving, his body bare, skin glistening… She shut her eyes and whipped her head from side to side. _By the Stone!_ She prayed no one else saw that. Alistair yanked his hand away, and she knew whatever he had seen was just as… potent.

“I don’t want anything you offer!” She shouted quickly. “I’ll do nothing you say!”

The demon scoffed and she opened her eyes to see it, hands on hips, before her. “You wish to battle me? So be it… you will learn to bow to your betters, mortal!”

She still did not have her weapons, though the others did, but she had the forms she had learned during her travels. She morphed into the burning skeleton and sent a fireball flying, Alistair shrieking at her new appearance. As the sloth demon changed forms, now an ogre sweeping Morrigan and Wynne from their feet, Sereda too morphed into the golem. She landed a punch across its jaw.

It continued to shift from one body to another, and Sereda and her companions continually bested it. Finally, with a great shout, it grew and burned into pure rage, it’s fiery claws striking out. One swipe caught Sereda across the cheek and she screamed. Wynne was suddenly at her side, hand clamped to the burning flesh, and chant shouted above it. Sereda could feel the mana flow from the old woman onto her, and the skin began to close, to heal, instantly.

As Wynne tended her, Alistair drove his sword through the demon’s chest with a final cry, Morrigan sending a burst of snow with it. The sloth demon became itself once again and dissolved to dust with a final, lingering, screech.

Niall appeared then, as suddenly as the others had and with as much confusion. But he saw the smoking remains that were the sloth, and he grinned.

“You did it! I never thought… I never expected you to free yourself, to free us both.” He sighed happily and motioned to the pedestal, now glowing bright yellow. “You can finally leave!”

Sereda and the others rushed to the pedestal, but Sereda stopped when it was clear Niall didn’t follow. “Aren’t you coming? We could use your help.”

Niall shook his head, his smile turning bittersweet. “I cannot go with you. I have been here far too long. For you, it will have been an afternoon’s nap. Your body won’t have wasted away in the real world. There is so little of me left, I cannot go back to it.”

Sereda nodded, replying gravely, “I’m sorry I could not rescue us faster.”

Niall shook off her sadness. He retorted, “I do not fear what may come. They say we return to the Maker in death, and that isn’t such a terrible thing, is it? My only regret is that I could not save the Circle. But you… you can.”

He came forward quickly, grasping Sereda’s arms lightly and, eyes burning into hers, asserted, “Take the Litany off my body. It can protect you from the worst of the blood magic. It’ll be the only way to defeat Uldred!”

“I will, I promise.” She placed her fist over her heart and bowed her head.

Niall released her and said, ruefulness sneaking into his voice. “Before I was taken to the Circle, my mother said I was meant for greatness, that I would be more than my ancestors could have ever dreamed.” He sighed with a quirk of his lips. “I hope I haven’t disappointed her.”

Sereda’s heart swelled and she threw her arms around the mage’s body impulsively. “You didn’t, Niall.”

He inclined his head to hers and whispered, “It is time for us both to be on our way. Remember the Litany. The Circle is all that matters now.”

She pulled away with a sad smile and wiped away the tears that had made their way down her cheeks. “I won’t forget. Goodbye… friend.” She hit her hand against the pedestal and Niall’s slow wave faded from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, oh man, I puzzled over how to write the Fade section for QUITE a while. I hope you like what I came up with, I'm pleased with it myself!
> 
> Comments, kudos, views, psychic well-wishes; they're all greatly appreciated and loved.


	23. Chapter 23

Sereda came to in the same position she’d fallen asleep. The others stirred as well, all groaning and stretching their limbs. Alistair helped her to her feet with a grimace.

“Well, I vote we never do _that_ again,” he murmured, pushing the body of the sloth demon off of Wynne’s arm. He brought the old mage up and she patted his cheek affectionately.

Morrigan’s voice was tempered by the lingering sluggishness. She pushed herself up as she moaned, “I just want to get out of here as soon as we can.”

“Yes, let us move on, Wardens. There is no time for delay,” Wynne spoke through her yawn, rubbing her eyes languidly.

_There’s something I need to remember_. Sereda’s connection to the Fade was weakening, and all she could picture was a mop of red hair. _What was it…_

She looked around them, spying the same hair from her mind’s eye a few feet from her. It was matted with blood, but still stuck out wildly over a pale face, familiar like a friend from childhood. Sereda went to it, pushing off the body of another mage to uncover a man. _Niall_ , his name came to her mind. He was a hero, somehow, to her. She searched his body out of instinct, finding a small book clenched in his frozen fingers.

“The Litany! Niall told me to take this!” She held it aloft as she climbed back to her feet, Wynne’s eyes widening at it.

“That will help us immensely! We must hurry and confront Uldred; who knows how long that demon held us?”

Sereda nodded her agreement and led them forward. They ducked into a small study to deal with a group of possessed templars, held captive by a sinuous desire demon. Alistair upended a table and pulled Sereda behind it just as one templar brought down his battleaxe where she once stood.

“Thanks, I owe you one,” she said, breathless, as she peaked over to glimpse her mages distracting the desire demon away from its puppets.

“Anytime, Sereda.” He beamed down at her and leapt up to smash the hilt of his sword between the eyes of a templar. He crouched back down with an airy laugh.

Sereda laughed too, and their meeting in the Fade came back in a rush. “Maybe this isn’t the best time to be thinking about this, but I was wondering about something…”

Alistair nodded slowly and rubbed his forehead. “I have a feeling I know what you’re… wondering about.”

“Goldanna?” The beaming sister and her boisterous children filled her mind’s eye.

He sighed and nodded again, waiting for her to return from driving a dagger through the throat of a templar that charged them. “So, before you get angry, there’s another member of my family I haven’t told you about. I have a… sister. Well, a half-sister. My mother had a daughter before me… only I never knew about her. She’s not a royal bastard, so I guess they didn’t feel the need to tell me.”

Sereda squeezed his hand briefly and together they pressed the table forward, knocking down a few opponents. Alistair shouted over the din of clashing swords and armor. “I don’t think she knew about me either! But after I became a Warden, I did some checking and…”

He rolled to his left to block a blow headed for Wynne’s head, and continued, “She’s still alive! In Denerim!”

“That’s wonderful news,” Sereda called out as she threw a dagger at the demon’s eye. It batted it away as lazily shooing a fly, and Sereda groaned.

“It really is,” Alistair agreed, coming to her side to attack the demon together. The templars all lay still, dead or unconscious, and Morrigan and Wynne casted their spells from behind. “She’s the only real family I have left, and I’ve just been thinking that maybe it’s time I went to see her.”

Their combined attack drove the demon into a corner, the beast screeching at it stretched and contorted before them. The wardens sunk their blades into the demon’s chest together and its purple skin disintegrated before them. Sereda bent and retrieved her dagger and returned them to their familiar places with a satisfied sigh.

Morrigan looted the bodies as Wynne rested and Alistair turned to regard Sereda with a knit brow, sheathing his sword. “Chances are we’ll be heading to Denerim soon, and when we’re there I wonder if we might be able to go see her.”

Sereda grabbed his hand and nodded. “If you want to, we could try.”

The look of gratitude on Alistair’s face buoyed her steps as they cleared the rest of the level of its demons, their tiredness coming off in sloughs. _I’m ready_ , she told herself, pulling open a large door with a sharp yank. The staircase leading to the final level lay before them, as Wynne had said it would. Beside it radiated a strange, white prism, surrounding a kneeling templar.

He looked up at their entrance and groaned. “This trick again?” He laughed, bitter. “I know what you are. It won’t work. I will stay strong…”

He fell onto his hands with a muffled cry before leaning back onto his feet. Sereda went closer, unsure if he was possessed or not. He certainly prayed like a regular man, but the Fade reminded her looks were deceiving here.

“Are you all right,” she asked gently, knowing half the answer. He appeared whole, but when his eyes snapped to hers, surrounded by gaunt and darkened skin, she knew he’d seen terrible things.

“The boy is clearly exhausted,” Wynne admonished. “And this cage… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The old mage went to it, reaching her hand out. It could not go further than the white beams of light, but she comforted the occupant all the same. “Rest easy, Ser Cullen… help is here.”

This Cullen whirled back and onto his feet, face twisting in rage. “Enough visions! If anything in you is still human, kill me now and stop this game!”

He was about her age, Sereda could see, but his cheeks were hollow and stubbled. _How long has he been in here?_

She opened her mouth to ask, but Cullen shouted over her, eyes trained to the ceiling. “You broke the others, but I will stay strong, for my sake… for theirs…” He cried out and fell to his knees again, muttering, “Filthy blood mages… getting in my head… I will not break! I’d rather die…”

Sereda knelt at the cage’s edge, ducking to try to catch Cullen’s eye. “Calm down, you’re safe now.”

He looked up and shook his head with a sneer. “Silence! I’ll not listen to anything you say! Now begone!”

When she didn’t move, his voice cracked. “Still here? But that’s always worked before…”

“We’re real, and we’re here to help you, brother,” Alistair said softly, joining Sereda on the ground.

Cullen’s brows turned and he frowned. “Did Greagoir send you? How… how did you get here?”

“I’m a Grey Warden,” Sereda explained, “and I’m trying to help save the tower.”

“Good.” Cullen nodded fervently. “Kill Uldred. Kill them all for what they’ve done. They caged us like _animals_ … looked for ways to break us. I’m the only one left… And there was—there was nothing I could do.”

Sereda could hear him spiraling and she changed the subject evenly. “Where are Irving and the other mages?”

Cullen’s eyes snapped to hers, and she could see that they were golden brown and furious. “What others? What do you mean?”

“Irving and the other mages who were fighting Uldred. Where are they?” Wynne moved back to stand beside Morrigan, who was glaring daggers at Sereda.

“They are in the Harrowing Chamber,” he said, motioning to the stairs at the right of his prison. “The sounds coming out from there… oh, Maker…” He clutched at his face and Alistair stood, helping Sereda to her feet.

“We must hurry,” Wynne whispered. “They are in grave danger, I am sure of it.”

“You can’t save them!” Cullen snapped, “You don’t know what they might have become!”

“I don’t understand—”

He clutched at his curly hair, each word forced out. “They’ve been surrounded b-by blood mages whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts! You have to end it, now, before it’s too late!”

“They could still be alive—”

He slammed his fist against his prison wall, cutting off her rationale. “They’ve been… infected! You can’t take the risk!”

“I won’t kill indiscriminately!” Sereda shouted back, her hand going to her dagger. Calm words were getting them nowhere.

Cullen took a deep breath, but his voice still shook as he countered, “To ensure this horror is ended… to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there!”

Sereda shook her head. “I’d rather spare maleficarum than risk harming an innocent.”

“Thank you,” Wynne murmured. “I know you would make a rational decision.”

“Rational?” Cullen began to pace, throwing his arms up in the air. “How is this rational? Do you understand the danger—”

“We know full well the danger of magic,” Morrigan seethed, pushing forward. “But killing all of the mages because they _might_ be blood mages is not justice. I know you have suffered—”

“You know nothing!” Cullen roared, whirling around. “I am thinking about the future of the Circle! Of Ferelden!”

Sereda pulled Morrigan back and said, firm, “I do not want the blood of the blameless on my hands.”

“I am just willing to see the painful truth, which you are content to ignore!”

They moved to the stairs, Wynne shaking her head sadly as she looked down on the trapped templar. “We will help you once Uldred is dead.”

Cullen scoffed. “My cage is his doing. Or one of his mages… Once they are dead, I’ll be freed.”

“Stay safe,” Alistair added, following Wynne. Morrigan went after, in silence.

“No one ever listens,” Cullen said, venom twisted from his heart. “Not until it’s far too late. Maker turn his gaze on you. I hope your compassion hasn’t doomed us all.”

His angry eyes haunted Sereda as she followed her companions up the steps into the Harrowing Chamber.

It was a cavernous room, devoid of furnishings but filled with bodies, living and dead. The living mages sat against a wall, skittering away as abominations tried to pull from one another. One older mage, a man with a matted grey beard and torn robes, pulled at the arm of a creature; he was rewarded with a blow across the jaw. A laugh came from a bald man at the center of the room, who turned with a grin towards the door when Sereda and the others ran in. She slammed to a halt just as lightning flashed in windows at the very top of the tower.

“Ah… look what we have here. An intruder.” The bald man motioned to his pets, who flowed away from the terrified mages and came to his side. “I bid you welcome. Care to join in our… revels?” His eyes flickered from blue to black, and his grin was too wide to be human.

“I take it you’re Uldred,” Sereda called back, her stomach roiling beneath her armor.

The man nodded. “You’re very observant. I’m quite impressed you’re still alive, actually. Unfortunately for _me_ , that means you killed my servants.”

He clapped his hands twice and his abominations resumed their torments. He looked after them fondly. “Ah, well, they are probably better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the terrible responsibility of independence.”

“You’re turning these people into abominations!” Wynne cried, held back only by Alistair’s hand at her elbow. 

“And freeing them in the process!” Uldred grasped the air in front of him as though shaking each by their shoulders. “A mage is but the larval form of something greater! The Chantry vilifies us, calls us abominations, when we have truly reached our full potential!”

Wynne shook her head and shouted back, “You’re mad! There’s nothing glorious about what you’ve become, Uldred! You’ve slaughtered innocent mages!”

He cackled as thunder filled the room. “Uldred? He is gone. I am Uldred and yet I’m not. I am _more_ than he was. I could give you this gift, Wynne. You and all mages. It would be easier if you just accepted it.”

Uldred took a step forward and Wynne spat at his feet, drawing a weary grin from the mages in the corner. “But some people can be so stubborn,” Uldred lamented with a frown. He gestured to the piles of bodies behind him.

“I’m glad so many of them stood up to you,” Sereda said. In truth, she was horrified at the death and destruction. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but not this… She truly began to feel that Greagoir was right when he said the Circle was lost.

Uldred rolled his eyes. “And what good did that do? I still won. I even have the First Enchanter on my side, don’t I, Irving?” He waved a lazy hand and the old man flew forward, landing with a thud at Uldred’s feet.

He looked up to Sereda’s eyes pleadingly. “Stop him…” He spoke between gasps. “He… is building an army. He will… destroy the templars and—” Uldred cut him off with a kick to the gut, tutting disapprovingly.

“You’re a sly little fox, Irving. And here I thought you were just starting to turn.”

“Never,” Irving wheezed, earning himself another blow.

“That’s enough out of you, Irving. He’ll serve me, eventually. As will you…” He came towards them and Sereda held her hands in front of her companions, shielding their legs.

She declared for them all, “No, we won’t. I’ll die first.”

“Killing you would be a waste. Your raw potential, with the strength of a demon behind it, would be unstoppable! I can do that—I can give you power, and a new life!”

“I can’t let you do that,” she warned, pulling out her daggers.

Uldred sighed and clapped his hands, his abominations whirling around. “Fight, if you must. It will just make my victory all the sweeter.”

His face twisted into a grin and then a snarl, his frame stretching higher and higher until a monstrous ogre stood before them. He roared and spittle flew from his terrible mouth. His minions went to the tormented mages and dragged them forward. The mages screams were silenced and their bodies contorted, prisms of light about them. Sereda ran forward, but the demon that was Uldred leapt up and slammed his fists into the ground, the shockwave of it sending Sereda and the rest to the floor.

Sereda rolled over and tossed Wynne the Litany. The mage caught it and began to read swiftly, words tumbling from her mouth. She took a breath and commanded, “Keep Uldred distracted!”

The Wardens and Morrigan exchanged a look and all three nodded. “It’s what we do best,” Sereda called back, running towards the beast and leaping up to drive a dagger into the ogre’s side. Morrigan began to cast, ducking around one of the ogre’s mighty fists to hurl her own fist of stone square at his snarling face. Alistair laughed as the ogre shook himself in confusion and drove his sword into the ogre’s leg.

Wynne’s tactics worked, and the mages were freed from the transformation. They climbed to their feet, joining in the casting with Morrigan. Together, the mages summoned a whirling tower of fire, engulfing the ogre within its red tongues.

It was seemingly ended in a blink, the ogre falling to the ground, half-burnt and silent, its pets piles of ash nearby. The mages collapsed to the ground in their exhaustion, and Wynne crawled to Irving’s side.

“Irving! Are you all right?” Sereda watched as Wynne managed to summon the strength to heal the First Enchanter, blue energy flowing from her fingertips.

Irving moaned with a chuckle. “I’ve… been better. But I’m thankful to be alive. I suppose that is your doing, isn’t it, Wynne?”

“I wasn’t alone,” Wynne said, looking back to the Wardens and Morrigan. “I had help.” Alistair came forward and assisted her with Irving, pulling him to his feet.

“The Circle owes all of you a debt we will never be able to repay.” Sereda nodded solemnly. “Come, the templars await. We shall let them know that the tower is once again ours.”

It was a slow procession down the stairs, the mages weak from their torments. Cullen was shocked to see them, now free from his prison, but he helped a young woman without complaint, putting her arm about his shoulders. They made their way back to the first level, the other survivors coming from their hiding places, closet doors thrown open, tables righted. Some were covered in their own blood, others in the blood of their fallen friends. They reached the children and Petra let out of cry of relief as she ran forward to embrace Wynne. Salroka loped to Sereda’s side and nudged her head with his. She smiled and scratched behind his ear.

When they came to the grand doors, Sereda pounded on them thrice. “Ser Greagoir! We have First Enchanter Irving with us!”

“How can I be sure this isn’t a trick,” a muffled voice called back. Sereda rolled her eyes and looked to the leader of the mages.

“It is over, Greagoir,” Irving called. “Uldred is dead.”

The bolt slid free and the doors parted. The templars all stood, armed and ready, but swords clambered to the ground in shock as they took in the sight of the survivors. Some went to the aide of the mages, while others backed away, wary of their blood-soaked appearance.

“Maker’s breath,” Ser Greagoir swore, taking Irving from Alistair and Wynne’s arms. “I had not expected to see you alive again, old friend.”

The two men laughed breathlessly, and the rest of the mages and templars began to disperse, healers tending to the wounded as best they could. The only one that remained was Cullen, who shook with anger at the laughing men. “Knight-Commander, Uldred tortured these mages, hoping to break their wills and turn them into abominations. We don’t know how many of them have turned!”

“What?” Irving groaned with the effort to stand on his own, but he still admonished the templar. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

Cullen glared and pressed forward, “Of course, he’ll say that! He might be a blood mage! Don’t you know what they did—”

Greagoir cut him off with a sharp rebuke. “I am the knight-commander here, not you. I will trust the word of the Grey Warden. If she believes the Circle has been saved, then it has.”

Expectant eyes snapped to her and Sereda took a deep breath. “I believe order has been restored to the Circle.”

Irving and Wynne let out a joint sigh of relief and he said, “We will rebuild. We will go on, and we will learn from this tragedy, and be strengthened by it.”

Cullen opened his mouth to argue, but a templar pulled him away, leading him towards the healers. Greagoir shook his head after his subordinate and looked back to Sereda and the others. “Thank you. You have proven yourself a friend of both the Circle, and the templars.”

Sereda grimaced. _Here comes the worst part._ As much as they needed the mages, Sereda could feel how gauche it was to ask after all they had just witnessed. “What of the darkspawn? I require aid.”

Irving and Greagoir shared a look, the mage answering. “The least we can do is help you against the darkspawn. I would hate to survive this only to be overcome by the Blight.”

“So, we have your word,” Alistair asked, a glimmer of hope to his voice.

Irving nodded. “You have my word as first enchanter. The Circle will join the Grey Wardens in the fight.”

“Irving,” Wynne said, laying a hand on his arm. “I have a request. I seek leave to follow the Grey Warden.”

“Wynne…” Irving shut his eyes and spoke softly. “We need you here. The Circle needs you.”

She smiled and patted his arm. “I appreciate the sentiment, Irving, but the Circle will do fine without me. They have you.”

Wynne looked back at Sereda, whose jaw was still dropped, “This woman is brave and good, and capable of great things. If she will accept my help, I want to be of service.”

“You can come if you really want to…” Sereda shrugged. She heard Morrigan scoff behind her, but Alistair murmured a word of thanks.

Irving pondered it a moment and nodded with a weak grin. “Then I give you leave to follow the Wardens. You were never one to stay in the tower when there was adventure to be had.”

They shared a secret chuckle before Irving sighed. He pointed back towards the others. “There is much to be done here, and I must go. Please forgive me for not being a proper host.”

He started to amble away, with Wynne’s help, and Alistair leaned down to whisper in Sereda’s ear, “We still need their help with Connor.”

She couldn’t believe she’d nearly forgot. She blurted, “One more thing! Can the Circle go to Redcliffe to save a possessed child?”        

Wynne’s look of confusion, Irving’s look of pure exhaustion, and Greagoir’s look of rage hit Sereda at once and she shrugged with a sheepish grin.

“The child is possessed? But…” Irving shook his head and sighed. “Killing the demon would mean killing the—unless you intend to enter the Fade?”

Sereda nodded. Thankfully, Irving continued before Greagoir could air his protests. “Yes… Yes, it can be done with a group of mages. Wynne, find a group who are willing to travel. You can escort them to Redcliffe and meet the Wardens there.”

Wynne nodded and helped him from the chamber.

Greagoir’s cheeks were red, but he remained calm. “If there’s nothing else, I must ask that you leave. We need to sweep the tower to ensure it’s clear, and begin restoring it.”

Sereda’s shoulders slumped. The last shred of hope for a hot bath and a warm bed fled. “No, that’s all we needed, I suppose.”

“Then I bid you goodnight, and goodbye.” Greagoir shuddered. “And I hope we never require your help again.”

Two templars appeared and ushered the four of them from the hall to the docks, where the boyish templar waited to take them across the lake once more. Clouds roiled across the sky and Sereda was unsure if it was dawn or dusk. The young man wasn’t much help, silently taking them across wind-whipped waters and hurrying away without a word.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends the Circle! I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> And the other day, _Kallak_ turned two years old! It's been a long road, with many breaks, but I've stuck with it for you guys! All of you readers mean the world to me; I appreciate you!! And a special shout-out to my sister, who knew nothing about Dragon Age, but let me share my story with her anyway.


	24. Chapter 24

A flash of lightning and the accompanying crack of thunder dimmed the voices of the crowd waiting out the storm in the Spoiled Princess, eyes snapping to the door and windows to see if more would follow. When the rain was the only sound that returned, some of the tension eased, and Sereda turned back to the ferryman, who was in the process of breaking her heart.

“What do you mean you won’t take us?” Sereda fought a wave of tears as her frustration mounted. It cheered her some to see the shame in Kester’s face. _Fat lot of good it does us_ , she fumed, but it was nice nonetheless.

“I’m awfully sorry about it, lass, but there’s no way Lissie will make it out in that storm!” He pointed to the windows, which lit up with another lightning strike. “I’ll be rooming here till the storm passes meself!”

Sereda groaned and turned to Alistair, his features unusually grim. “What do you think? Should we stay here until this storm moves on?”

He shook his head and murmured, “I don’t think Connor has that much time. It might be faster to walk it.”

“That will take a day at the very least,” Morrigan balked. “These are not clouds driven by the Blight; they’ll be on their way soon enough.”

Kester overheard their argument and leaned in to say, “Begging your pardon, but I disagree with that. Yara over there has been reading the signs and she says it may last the whole day, into the night even. Either way, I won’t be off until tomorrow.”

The trio argued for a bit before Alistair and Sereda won out. They would walk to Redcliffe; Alistair was confident they would be there the next morning. Morrigan bought bread to take along with them from the chatty innkeeper and they set off in the downpour. Sereda was too exhausted to be upset by the storm.

“So, tell me,” Alistair began bitterly, striding next to Morrigan, “was the Tower of Magi everything you thought it would be?”

“Abominations running rampant? Templars ready to slaughter every mage in sight?” Morrigan scoffed. “Yes, it rather met all my expectations.”

Alistair glared and shook his head. “You don’t think you might have been better off getting your training there? Instead of… whatever your mother taught you?”

Sereda looked up from her muddy feet in time to see Morrigan’s grand eyeroll. “You’re right. My mother didn’t have _nearly_ as many abominations running about. That certainly would have improved my education.”

Alistair was silent for a moment, before harrumphing. “I’ll give you that one.”

“I’m so relieved,” Morrigan muttered, slowing to walk behind the wardens with Salroka.

It was a long, quiet day. The storm “broke”, according to Alistair, around midday, but the sun did not reappear to dry them. Alistair led them down the road in sodden silence, dodging Sereda’s attempts to talk, while Morrigan complained about anything she was able to. Sereda regretted taking the long way, wishing for a warm bed at the inn with a painful yearning. _By the Stone, what I took for granted before._ In Orzammar she wished for honor and glory; now she would settle for a pillow stuffed with down, blankets that did not set your skin to itching…

She had abandoned the bittersweet fantasies by the time they stopped to camp. It was to be another night of hard rock and a blanket that just barely covered both her shoulders and her feet. Sereda volunteered to cook the supper, earning grimaces from her human companions. She had found no talent for the culinary arts in her weeks on the surface.

Still, she wolfed down her bland stew, taking Morrigan’s proffered portion with grateful fervor. Alistair shot her a knowing look and Sereda tried to turn her slurping into sipping, to no avail. She mopped up her bowl with her ration of bread and wished for another serving. _Maybe in Redcliffe_ …

When Alistair offered to take first watch, stalking off before they could argue, Sereda followed, ignoring Morrigan’s derisive snort from behind. Sereda wanted to talk, to not feel so alone, but she could only open and shut her mouth several times, losing her nerve. On the road, Alistair had understandably not been in a chatty mood, but now that it was just the two of them Sereda thought he might return to his gaiety.

“Something on your mind?” He glanced down at her, lips quirking in a lopsided smile. Her heart skipped a beat and she nodded.

She went with the first thing she could think of, anything to get their minds off the abominations within the Circle. “What changes after the Joining?”

He gave her a side-eyed stare. “You mean other than becoming a Grey Warden?”

She rolled her eyes and insisted, “I mean what changes physically.”

“Hmmm,” he drummed his chin with his fingers. “You know, I asked Duncan this, too, and all I got was, ‘You’ll see’.”

“That seems rather cruel of him.” _Also rather like everything else I know about the man._ Duncan had not coddled his recruits. He expected them to be fully fledged Wardens from the very first sip.

Alistair shrugged, eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s not that Duncan wanted to keep it a secret. It’s just that the Grey Wardens don’t discuss it much. I guess it’s not a pleasant topic.”

She nodded and waited. And waited. Sereda thought he had forgotten about her original question all together, when he started in softly, “The first change I noticed was an… increase in appetite. I used to get up in the middle of the night and raid the castle larder. I thought I was starving to death. I’d slurp down every dinner like it was my last, my face all covered in gravy. When I’d look up, the other Wardens would stare…” Alistair smiled. “…then laugh themselves to tears.”

Sereda shook her head. She lied, “I haven’t felt anything like that…”

Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because I was watching you wolf down that stew tonight and I thought, ‘It’s a good thing she gets a lot of exercise’.” Sereda’s mouth dropped in shock and she shoved him.

“Are you calling me a pig?!” She laughed, only somewhat indignant.

“Not at all! I’ve never seen a pig eat like that. Ever.” She shoved him again and their laughter ran throughout the forest. “I jest! I jest! Don’t kill me!”

She knew what he meant, regardless. She was always hungry, the churning of her stomach as constant a companion as the hum at her throat. She had thought it was just the aftermath of the Deep Roads, not something to do with the Joining.

Alistair continued. “And even if you eat and eat and eat, the taint just burns away every bit of you that’s soft. Eventually you’re all muscle. One of the older Wardens told me that’s why the ladies love us, we’re in great shape without trying.” He patted his stomach with a wink.

Sereda rolled her eyes and laughed. “Not the debilitating sense of vigilance and duty?”

“Oh, that too. Really gets those noble ladies going.” They chuckled together and Alistair laid his head back against the tree trunk.

“And there’s the nightmares,” Sereda prompted, hoping to know all the changes she should expect.

Alistair nodded. “You learn to block it out after a while. It’s supposed to be worse for those who join during a Blight. Are they still troubling you?”

Sereda nodded without elaboration.

“Some people never have much trouble, but that’s rare. Others have trouble sleeping their entire life. They’re just more sensitive, I suppose. Before the Blight I only had one or two nightmares. Now it’s a few a week. When we get to sleep…”

Sereda patted his leg in commiseration. He looked down at her with a sad smile. “Everyone ends up the same, though. Once you reach a certain age, the real nightmares start. That’s how a Warden knows his time come.”

“His time has come?”

Alistair’s eyes widened. He gave her a sheepish smile. “Oh, that’s right. We never had time to tell you the best part, did we? Well, in addition to all the other wonderful things about being a Grey Warden, you don’t need to worry about dying from old age. You’ve got thirty years to live. If you’re lucky.”

Before Sereda could react, he went on. “The taint… it’s a death sentence, and not just because we spend our lives fighting darkspawn. Ultimately your body won’t be able to take it. When the time comes, most Grey Wardens go to Orzammar and die in battle rather than… waiting. It’s tradition.”

“Why Orzammar?” She whispered. It was the only thing she could think to say. _Thirty years?_ It seemed so far off and yet… To know what was awaiting her down the long road did not bring any semblance of comfort.

“You know better than most you’ll always find darkspawn in the Deep Roads. The oldest Wardens head there for one last glorious battle. Not that there’s a shortage of darkspawn during a Blight, but we love our traditions. The dwarves are said to respect the Wardens for it.”

Horrorstricken, she watched her comrade’s face. He turned his eyes to the sky and shook his head. He murmured, “It’s either death in the Deep Roads or madness from our tainted blood. Cheery, right? And you wondered why we keep the Joining a secret from the new recruits. There you have it.”

Sereda pressed her hands to the ground, begging to feel the Stone beneath them, tears overwhelming her. Her fingers dug through the grass to the dirt and rocks with a fervent prayer, _Mother, Mother, Mother._ Of all the cruel ironies in the world, she was sure this was the greatest. Alistair spoke of it as a vague future awaiting them. Nothing to worry about yet… She thought of the golden doors rushing open, the cool, stale air hitting her face. The pressing silence punctuated by the shrieks of the blighters pursuing her. She would have to return there one day, face the fate she’d avoided. _This is my punishment for thwarting the Ancestors._ _There’s no escape._

“I…” Her voice was choked in her throat but Alistair’s hand on her shoulder spurred her to her feet. She shouted, “I feel betrayed! This is wrong!”

He narrowed his eyes up at her, exacerbation overtaking the whispered commiseration in his voice from before. “You think if we asked for volunteers, that Grey Wardens would exist? Maybe a few would still sign up, but you certainly wouldn’t be here—”

“No, I’d be dead in the Deep Roads already!”

Alistair’s demeanor changed instantly, his eyes widened with a cock of his head. “What do you mean…?”

Sereda huffed, rage propelling her words. “Duncan didn’t just recruit me off the street; I was exiled from Orzammar. They sealed me in the Deep Roads so I could die with a little honor, fighting the damn darkspawn. I don’t even know how long I was down there! Long enough to be half-starved by the time I found Duncan and the others. He offered me my only chance to get away from…” The anger began to soften into despair and she sank to her knees in front of him. “Duncan took me from the Deep Roads knowing full well I would have to return. I…” She met Alistair’s eyes and the dam holding the rest of her tears broke. She began to weep.

Her heart twisted as she cried, Alistair’s face falling as she asked, “What kind of man does that? How could he offer me that choice? I don’t want to live my life knowing I have to go back there, Alistair.” Her voice broke. “There’s no honor to be had in those Blighted halls.”

Alistair’s voice shook as he apologized. “I’m so sorry, Sereda. I—I had no idea. I can’t… imagine…” She could sense he wanted to pull her into his arms, wanted to comfort her, but she stayed still as stone in front of him.

They stayed like that for a time, frozen before one another as Sereda reined in her emotions. She had little choice now. She would have to contend with the deception eventually, but for now they were supposed to be guarding the camp, defeating the Blight. She wiped her face with a shuddering breath.

“Why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll finish your shift.” She took another deep breath. “I… I don’t think I could sleep.” 

He stood and gave her a pained look. His fingers brushed her shoulder and he paused for a moment, but he headed back to the camp without argument. Sereda watched him go through a blur of her tears and began to chide herself. _You shouldn’t have told him like that_. She had wanted to soften it, to spare him the darker details of her exile. It was foolish, perhaps. He was a grown man, and clearly accustomed to tales of woe, but his words in Redcliffe struck a chord. She didn’t want him to look at her any differently when he knew the truth.

She leaned against the tree and picked at the grass beneath her. _I’m a hypocrite_. She regretted telling him as much as she wished she had finally gotten the whole truth out. Now it would be another painful conversation, surely, and one that would undoubtedly change their relationship once again.

They’d been so close; their lips had almost met before damned Kester interrupted them. What would they be doing now if they had finally kissed? Would they be giggling together in her tent? Would they be comforting one another after the horrors they’d seen?

_It doesn’t matter now_. She was sitting alone, amassing a pile of torn blades of grass, and Alistair was most likely lying awake in his tent, furious at her fury. She was tempted to go to him and apologize for her outburst, but she remained planted out of duty and shame.

An hour passed and the forest grew silent. Sereda relished the quiet, but something felt off. Her skin prickled curiously, and the pendant at her throat hummed. There was a sensation she couldn’t put words too, but it was wrong like eyes on the back of her head or the whisper of your name too far to make out who said it. She scrambled to her feet and drew her daggers, her heart beginning to pound. She thought to call for the others, but she told herself she wasn’t in danger yet. She only _felt_ odd; she hadn’t heard a twig snap or seen a shadow cross her path. She turned slowly toward the black of the forest, and took a deep breath. She started forward, ignoring the alarums between her ears. _You should get Alistair! Don’t go any farther!_ She went regardless, walking until the campfire was a distant flicker.

Though the feeling grew as she went, she was prepared to admit defeat just as a hurlock rushed forward, its snarling face illuminated by a sliver of the moon at the last moment as it closed in. Sereda shrieked and rolled away before its maul could smash in her skull and whipped back to slice at its legs. It was too fast for her and dodged the attack with a kick. The rusted metal tip of its boot connected with her cheek and Sereda screamed again as she felt her skin part jaggedly from her lip to her cheekbone. She scrambled backward and spit the blood that flooded her mouth as the hurlock charged again.

“Help! Alistair—!” Sereda managed to get her cry out before the beast toppled her over, straddling her with a wicked scream. It tossed its maul in favor of gloved fists, landing blow after blow on her face. She struggled against it, pushing past the pain radiating across her face, but its legs pinned down her arms, rendering her daggers useless. She released them and concentrated with all her might, but she couldn’t free herself; it was twice her size and wearing full plate. The hurlock laughed as she fought to escape and grabbed her head, smashing it into the ground with glee. Stars burst from behind her eyes. Sereda tried only to stay conscious, blackness creeping in with each of the hurlock’s guffaws. Its laughter was cut short as a blur barreled in from the side, knocking it off of her with a growl.

She used this lucky intervention to escape, rolling to her left to get as far from it as possible. She grabbed her dagger and prepared to fight, though the world was spinning about her. The blur rushed to her side for a moment and back to the creature, who was gasping for breath with pained screams. Before it could cry out, the blur pounced on the hurlock and ripped out its throat, silencing its shrieks.

With the creature dead, the blur ran off into the darkness, barking madly. Another blur appeared and Sereda tried to put a face to it.

“Sereda, can you stand?” The second blur asked. Sereda could hardly fix her eyes on it. She blinked and blinked again, shaking her head to clear her mind. The blur came in to focus. Alistair knelt to her side, his face aghast in pale moonlight.

“Morrigan! Over here!” Alistair pulled her into his lap, his hands brushing back her hair. She could hear barking close to her right. “It’ll be all right, dear. Morrigan’s coming.”

_It must be bad_ , she thought as the world went black.

She came to at camp, a scream ripping from her lungs as she shot up. Her head spun and she flopped back, her head thumping against something warm and soft. Salroka gave her a soft woof and licked her ear.

She was lying on her bedroll beside the fire, the heat of it bringing droplets of sweat to her brow. At least she hoped it was the fire and not some sort of infection.

“What in Andraste’s flaming sword were you thinking?” Alistair came into view, his face contorted with worry and rage. Even facing his injured partner, he did not temper his words. “You sense a darkspawn and you go off _towards_ it? Alone! In the middle of the night! You know better than to leave camp when you’re keeping watch!”

She sat up to snap, “I _thought_ that I was a Grey Warden and a dwarven warrior, perfectly capable of caring for herself!” Her outrage lost its bite as she leaned back into Salroka with a groan. All of her ached. She felt the cut at her cheek, pleased to meet a cotton bandage instead of a bloody mess. She could examine it later.

“Didn’t you feel it coming?” She could see the strain in his neck, his taut jaw. He had been worried. Sereda couldn’t muster sympathy for him when she felt like a golem’s training dummy.

The strange dread that had crept up on her rose again. She stammered, “I… I didn’t know that was what I was sensed. It just seemed—”

“Wrong,” Alistair completed, still fuming above her. “I can _not_ believe you left camp like that—”

She sat up and glared at him. “Well, maybe if someone actually told me what it felt like to sense a darkspawn, I wouldn’t have!”

Alistair opened and shut his mouth a few times before storming off. Morrigan replaced him, kneeling beside her.

“I did what I could, but healing is not my strong suit. Tis likely the cut on your cheek will scar, but the bruises will fade in time, and I don’t believe any bones were broken.”

“Thanks, Morrigan,” Sereda said weakly.

Morrigan nodded and pulled back the bandage to apply another layer of her poultice. “The fool means well,” Morrigan murmured.

Sereda’s confused expression pained her bruised head and Morrigan rolled her eyes. “He was very worried about you. He sensed the darkspawn as soon as the dog took off. Practically dragged me from my tent…”

“That’s all well and good,” Sereda said with a hiss as Morrigan checked her ribcage. “But it’s not my fault Duncan and he never told me about any of this.” She motioned around them and sat up slowly.

“True,” Morrigan agreed with a nod. “But, and I’m sure you know how loathe I am to say this, I agree with Alistair. You should not have run into the forest alone. There is much more than the Blight to threaten those who wander away from their campfires.”

Sereda sighed. “Not you too.”

“We both know that uniting Ferelden is on your shoulders. We cannot lose you.” Morrigan took Sereda’s hands and peered into her eyes. “Flemeth did not save you for nothing.”

Tears prickled behind Sereda’s eyes and she gave a jerky nod. Morrigan was right, as was Alistair. It was a foolish thing, and one her father would have chastised her for. Too much was riding on them for her to make such hasty decisions. She needed to be level-headed, calm, logical. _No more outbursts_ , she vowed as her eyes drifted shut again. The poultice had done its job, and some of the pain flew away. _We cannot afford to be led by my emotions_ … Sereda fell asleep with a renewed pragmatism and Morrigan’s hand laid over hers.

Sereda woke at dawn to a packed camp and a still fuming Alistair. Morrigan helped her to her feet with her best attempt at a smile and Salroka nudged her hand with his wet snout. Sereda tried to regain some cheer, but it was hard with the anger radiating from her fellow warden. She led them from the camp with a collection of sighs, praying to the Stone Alistair would let his righteous indignation go.

It was midmorning when the road jerked to the left.

“We’re about an hour outside of Redcliffe,” Alistair muttered just as the gang rounded the corner. Sereda, thanking the Ancestors that he’d deigned to speak to them, was about to capitalize on the opening when a young elf ran up. Sereda jumped back, and suppressed a scream. The woman seemed unfazed by the dwarf’s negative reaction and her brow relaxed as she caught sight of Sereda and her companions.

“Oh, thank the Maker! We need help! They attacked the wagon; please help us!”

She ran off before they could wrestle any more information from her, and Sereda trotted after her reluctantly. The elf slowed as she reached her wagon, another elf leaning against one of its grand wheels. He straightened as Sereda came into view, and the hair on her arms stood as she caught sight of the twin daggers on his back. The first elf reached his side and turned with a smug grin.

“Shit,” Sereda cursed. Other humans and elves appeared from behind boulders and trees, and the odds stacked further and further against them. _Five, six, seven, how many against three warriors and a broken dwarf_? Before she could call to the others to run for it, a great groaning came from above her. She looked up just in time to see a vast tree falling from a ledge; she leapt out of the way and prayed Alistair and the others had done the same.

She struggled to her feet, her ribs still wrapped tightly, just as the second elf shouted, “The Grey Wardens die here!”

_Queen Sereda,_ she prayed to her grandmother, _give me one day without fighting._ She ran forward with a pained battle cry and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit earlier than my normal posting because, as usual, I had two chapters bloom into three (I swear I'm following an outline, it's just that dialogue takes up so much more space than I expect it to every time). SO! I thought I would post this one today and the second in a few days, and then go from there. 
> 
> I'm curious: What do any of you think about chapter titles? I was thinking of going back and giving one or two-word titles for the chapters. Useful or no?
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for reading! Comments, kudos, and any other forms of love are greatly appreciated!


	25. Chapter 25

“Tie him up,” Sereda said to Alistair, rolling the elf onto his back with her boot.

When she got no response, Sereda looked to Alistair just in time to see his eye roll. “With what rope, exactly?”

Sereda pursed her lips and looked back to the elf, who gave a soft groan. “Well, he won’t be able to get far, I suppose,” she murmured.

He was handsome, for an elf, and the only survivor of the ambushers. His blank face was tattooed with a trio of lines of solid black, curving around his left brow and cheekbone, accentuating its high point. His blonde hair was well kept and swept over tan skin. He was thin, naturally, but when Sereda knelt to examine him closer, she could see the lean muscle underneath his skin.

“Mmm… what?” The elf’s eyes cracked open, and he reached for his forehead slowly. Sereda stood back and pointed a dagger towards him. _In case he gets any ideas._ The elf met the blade with a weary grin and shrugged.

“I rather thought I would wake up dead,” he said, rolling onto his side. “Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven’t killed me yet.” He grinned, and Sereda fought the urge to kick him. His accent was not Ferelden, but it prickled something in Sereda’s brain.

“Quiet!” She shouted with mock bravado. “You’ll answer when spoken to!”

The elf raised a brow and his smile turned satisfied. “Ooh, you’re rather an aggressive little minx, aren’t you? Lovely, too.”

Sereda glared, the puckered line of her cheek still pulsing beneath its dressing whenever she moved. A black eye, bandaged cheek, and split lips did not a lovely woman make.

The elf went on, undeterred, “But if it’s questions you’re planning on asking me, let me save you a little time and get right to the point. My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly.”

 _Antiva_ , a land of immense wealth, trade, and pirates. Sereda knew of the Crows, and she inched her dagger closer to this Zevran’s heart. An order of assassins that practically dictated who ruled Antiva, depending on who was giving them the coin for their tasks. Only those with gold to spare would pay an Antivan Crow to kill for them.

“Who hired you to kill us?”

Zevran tapped his lips, eyes shutting as he remembered. “A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I think his name was?” He opened his eyes to see Sereda’s glower and added sheepishly, “Yes, that’s it.”

“Does that mean you’re loyal to Loghain,” Alistair asked with steely voice.

Zevran shook his head vehemently. “I was contracted to perform a service. Beyond that, no, I’m not loyal to him. I have no idea what his issues are with you. The usual, I imagine. You threaten his power, yes?”

He took their silence as affirmation and smiled again. Sereda could not believe how relaxed he was in the face of two armed warriors, a mage, and a mabari. She found herself admiring his cool.

Regardless of her growing respect, Sereda still demanded, “And since you’ve failed that service? What now?”

“Ah, well, that’s between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself.”

Sereda rolled her eyes. “And between you and me?”

Zevran chuckled. “Isn’t that what we’re establishing now?” He winked.

Sereda huffed and regarded the elf at her blade’s edge. He was curiously honest. And now that he had been bested, he seemed to bear them no ill well. Unlike Loghain’s soldiers in Lothering or the darkspawn that lurked about, Zevran didn’t seem to want to kill them. Anymore.

“Why are you telling me all this?” She needed to know, not just for her safety, but her own peace of mind. _What compels an assassin to spill all of his secrets_?

“Why not? I wasn’t paid for silence.” 

Morrigan scoffed just as Sereda asked, “Aren’t you at least loyal to your employers?”

Zevran considered it and said, beaming, “Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you wish, when you’re done interrogating me, we can discuss it further.”

Alistair pulled Sereda back by her arm, hissing, “Let’s just kill him and be done with it. He might not be the only assassin Loghain bought.”

“That’s a fair point, my handsome friend,” Zevran reasoned. “But the Crows do not play games. If you hire a Crow, you hire _only_ a Crow.”

Alistair glared down at the interjection and Sereda pulled out of his grasp with a wrench. She flicked her eyes down to the elf. “I’m not interested in what you have to say, regardless of how… kindly you say it.” She tried to sound stern, but Zevran’s carefree shrug turned her voice soft at the end.

“Well, what’s it to be, then? All I ask is that you don’t eat my remains or anything… barbaric.” He shivered. “I have nightmares about that sort of thing.”

Sereda blanched. “We’re not going to eat you!”

Zevran nodded and laid on his back, shutting his eyes. “Make it quick, then. The Maker and his bosom await me.”

Sereda sighed and considered him. He did not seem to harbor any affection for Loghain. And he was clearly smart enough to trick them on the road. Perhaps he could be of use…

She pressed the tip of her blade into the tan skin of his throat. “I have a new job for you. Assassinate Loghain.”

Zevran replied without opening his eyes. “Hmmm. No. No, I won’t do that.”

“Unbelievable,” Morrigan muttered. “Even an assassin finds himself too good for the likes of us.”

Zevran sat up at the grumbling, unfazed by Sereda’s blade, and crossed his legs before him. “Believe me, it sounds like an excellent offer. But if I leave here without you dead, the Crows will be on me probably before I could even get to Denerim. And even if I could avoid them, and I might be able to, and even if I _could_ kill your Loghain, and I might, death would still await me.”

He sighed and slowly got to his feet, seeing that Sereda’s dagger threatened him less and less. “So… no, I can’t accept such a contract. It wouldn’t be right, given the circumstances.”

“It wouldn’t be right? You’re an assassin! You’re paid to kill people!” _Criminals_! Sereda reminded herself why she loathed those who shunned the law.

Zevran smiled, his brown eyes twinkling. “True, but even assassins must have standards. If you intend to kill me, I at least would have it be as an honest man.”

Sereda pursed her lips as her mind whirled. He wouldn’t kill Loghain for them, and he was as good as dead whether she swung the sword or not. But she didn’t _want_ to kill him. She’d seen so much death at the Circle, the senseless brutality of it all… It left a mark.

“Then, never mind that,” Sereda declared. “You can serve me, instead.”

She ignored the waves of confusion from behind her and focused on the one before her. Zevran looked about before pointing to himself. “You’re speaking to me?”

Sereda nodded, the hint of smile creeping on her split lip, and Zevran went on. “Are you joking? It’s an odd jest, though I’ll laugh if you insist.”

“No joke. I want you to swear an oath. You’re skilled with your blades, and clearly there is some good in you. Somewhere. You know we’re Wardens, and we’re trying to defeat the Blight. We could use another fighter.”

Zevran shrugged and planted a fist over his heart. “Who am I to go looking gift horses in the mouth. I hereby—”

“What?! You’re taking the assassin with us now? Does that _really_ seem like a good idea?!” Alistair strode between the dwarf and the elf, his brows raised high above angry eyes.

“If you want to kill him, Alistair, then you do it,” Sereda snapped. When his face went bashful, she added, “You wanted me to be in charge, so I’m in charge. If you have a problem with that, tell me.”

“Maker, you are too trusting! He’s a _killer_ , Sereda! Has anyone ever told you how naïve you are?” Alistair planted his hands on his hips.

Sereda scoffed. “At least _he_ tells me everything up front.”

Alistair sucked in his bottom lip to silence whatever retort he had. He glanced back at Zevran before returning with a slow shake of his head to Sereda’s gaze. “Fine, you’re in charge. But if there was a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello.”

He stalked off down the road without another word. Morrigan turned to follow, but paused to quip, “A fine plan, Sereda. But I would examine your food and drink far more closely from now on, were I you.”

Zevran laughed, drawing the gaze of the women. “That’s excellent advice for anyone.”

With the others heading towards Redcliffe, Zevran took up his vow again. “I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation…” He bowed, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “This I swear.”

“Good to hear it,” Sereda said with a true smile, turning to follow her angry companions.

They resumed the trail towards Redcliffe, Alistair glancing periodically at Sereda and the elf, muttering to himself with a glare each time.

“Shouldn’t we at least tie his hands or something?” Alistair called over his shoulder when he caught sight of Zevran digging through his effects.

“With what rope?” Sereda sneered. She relished the eyeroll Alistair gave her, though she knew it was petty. Zevran’s eyes darted between the two of them, but he kept his silence.

Morrigan was hardly better, peering down her nose at them as often as the ex-templar. She laid a hand on Salroka’s head and forged forward, almost walking beside Alistair. _First the forest, now Zevran_ , Sereda mused. _Next, they’ll be sharing a tent!_

Zevran cleared his throat at the shows of hostility and leaned down to whisper, “Are they always this friendly, or are they just feeling especially cheerful today?”

Sereda chuckled and shook her head. “This is as friendly as they get most days.” _Especially lately._

“I shall keep that in mind,” he murmured, taking a deep breath. “At least it does not smell as much like wet dogs here as it usually does.”

“Have you spent much time in Ferelden?”

He shook his head fervently. “Only the past few weeks. I spend most of my time in Antiva.”

“Tell me a little about it.” It would be a long way to defeating the Blight if they were to spend it silently.

“Oh? You wish to know about Antiva, do you?” He grinned and stepped forward, turning to regard her as they moved down the road. “The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there, of course.”

“Of course,” she said with a giggle.

He stumbled over a root, but righted himself with a beam and continued to stroll backwards confidently. Sereda saw Alistair’s narrowed eyes over Zevran’s shoulder, but she ignored him, focusing her eyes on the elf. He pushed a blonde lock behind his pointed and gestured as he spoke. “It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Ferelden. In Antiva, it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom. As the saying goes.”

He stopped to swoop down and pluck a flower from the side of the road, inhaling its scent deeply. Sereda smiled at his vivacity and prodded, “You don’t like Ferelden much, do you?”

He shrugged. “It is fine enough with its dogs and its mud. The people are spirited,” he looked over his shoulder at their human companions, “even if they cannot tell the difference between an assassin and a mere killer.”

Morrigan turned her head with tight lips at that and Zevran laughed. “But I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace! It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva. Do you come from someplace comparable?”

His eyes studied her face as she suppressed her first thoughts of home. “I am from Orzammar, as you might have guessed.”

“Ahh, yes,” he nodded as if confirming something to himself. “The city of stone. It, too, is beautiful in its way. Sad that it will never see sunlight or smell the salt of the ocean, however.”

She could not help but retort, “It has no need of the sun or the sea when it has rivers of lava.” She shut her eyes for a moment and wished for the Stone to rise to her feet, knowing full well it could not. She opened her eyes with a sigh.

Zevran raised a brow and nodded. “My apologies, Warden. I meant no offense.”

She accepted the apology and Zevran fell back to her side with a companionable calm. He began again, “You know what is most odd? We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes… I miss the leather the most.”

The way the “l” rolled from his tongue and the dreamy quality to his stare prompted her to ask, “Is that some kind of euphemism?”

His bark of laughter drew the humans’ annoyed eyes, but Zevran ignored them. “Not this once, no. I mean the smell. For years, I lived in a tiny apartment near the city’s leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates.”

He sighed as though remembering a lover’s face. “I grew to love the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day, the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home more than anything else.”

“You sound like you’ve been away from home forever.” _I can relate._

“Oh, not so long, I know. However, the thought of never returning makes me miss it immensely.” He shook his head. “Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship…’

“I thought, ‘Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward for a job well done!’ More the fool I, no?”

Sereda rested a hand on his arm. “Your home is still there, Zevran.”

He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, holding it with his other one. “True, and it’s a comforting thought. One simply never knows what is to come next. How could I have suspected I would end up defeated by a beautiful Grey Warden, a woman who then spares my life? I certainly could not.”

She blushed, her cheeks stained further when Alistair turned. His eyes widened he stopped in his tracks, but she arched a brow at him and he whipped back around. Sereda could hear the stomp of his boots as far back as she was.

“Now you’re flattering me,” she said, looking up through her eyelashes. Zevran grinned.

“I say you are beautiful because it is true. Should I not?”

She thought of the fury in Alistair’s eyes and how her heart broke to hear the truth of their order. Perhaps it was too far to get to back to where they were… “No, by all means.”

“And glad I am to hear it.”

They passed a few minutes in silence, Sereda relishing the warmth of Zevran’s hand on hers. Soon, though, she felt the need to fill the void. Sereda searched her mind for anything she could bring up, but they all sounded flat to her. She relented to the need to speak with, “So… I’ve never met an assassin before.”

Zevran laughed, drawing their other companions’ ire for a moment. “I can’t imagine you have. Or not that you’ve known of.”

Sereda giggled. “Well, do you actually enjoy being an assassin?”

“And why not?” Zevran shrugged and turned his face towards the sky. “There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You’re respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at.”

He looked down with a half-smile. “As for the killing part, well… some people simply need assassinating. Or do you disagree?”

Bhelen’s face first came to mind, then Loghain’s. Sereda gave him a slow nod. “No, you’re probably right.”

Zevran’s voice went dreamy again. “I often find myself the instrument of fate, ending these lives for one necessity or another. I console myself with the notion that most of them had it coming. And as far as enjoying the act of killing itself, why not?”

Sereda’s eyes went round and she shot a side-eyed look to the elf. His mouth was firm, but his tone the same smooth lilt, “There is a certain artistry to the deed, the pleasure of sinking your blade into their flesh and knowing that their life is in your hands.”

Sereda knew she couldn’t argue, couldn’t truly disagree. As tired as she was, there was something to relish in the fight. To be free, to wreak havoc or sow order as you pleased, it was intoxicating. Her cheeks went red and she murmured, “I know what you mean.”

“There are many things I do _not_ enjoy about being a Crow, of course. Having no choice, being treated as an expendable commodity, the rules… oh so many rules!”

The conversation in the forest came to mind and Sereda’s light smile turned to a frown. She shook herself and turned back to Zevran with false brightness, “Why did you become a Crow, then?”

“I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I’m told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bones and didn’t know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end.” He pulled from her grasp and whipped his own blade out faster than Sereda could track, hurling it at a tree immediately to the left of Alistair. The warden whirled around with a hand on his sword, but his anger softened when he saw Sereda’s surprise. She couldn’t hear what he muttered.

Zevran continued, plucking his dagger free when they reached it, “The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die.”

“And that system works,” Sereda asked with an incredulous brow raised.

“Of course. You compete against your fellow assassins, and those who survive are rightfully proud of it. In Antiva, being a Crow gets you wealth, women or men or whoever it is you fancy.” Zevran sighed, forlorn. “But that does mean doing what it is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It’s a cage, if a gilded one. Pretty, but confining.”

“What would you rather do?”

Zevran rubbed his chin. Thoughtfully, he replied, “Now that you mention it, I am not entirely certain.”

 They shared a laugh and Sereda pressed. “Well, besides leather, what do you fancy?”

“I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting.” He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, brushing it lightly. “Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?”

“I… Umm…” Sereda’s face was too hot for her mind to work. She tried to form words, but only continued to stammer. His brown eyes studied every detail of her face, and his lips were curving into a smile. _We’ve only known each other an hour,_ Sereda reasoned with herself, torn between turning him down and diving in.

It was just as she had decided what to say that Alistair planted his feet and declared, rage barely veiled, “The road forks here.”

Sereda pulled from Zevran’s grasp and went to Alistair’s side. “All right. Which way do we go?”

“Right for the castle, left for camp. Maybe you should just head back there with our elf friend.” The double meaning was clear and Sereda narrowed her eyes up at him.

“We’ll _all_ go to the castle. I’ll send a note to the others with Salroka. Anyone got something to write on?”

Zevran dug in his pack and produced a torn piece of parchment along with a piece of chalk. Sereda took them gratefully and scrawled:

_We’ve got mages to help Connor. Meet us at the castle as soon as you can._

_-Sereda_

“Here,” she tucked the note into Salroka’s collar. “Go straight to Leliana and take them to the castle.”

Salroka licked her unbandaged cheek and gave a cheerful bark before taking off down the left fork in the road. She pursed her lips and turned back to the right.

“Let’s hurry, then. Connor can’t wait forever.” Alistair rolled his eyes at her pressed tone, but they all fell into line as she led them towards the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended to write a whole chapter just for Zevran, but then I remembered how much I love Zevran! 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it! Comments, kudos, or whatever else you've got is appreciated!


	26. Chapter 26

They soon reached the castle, and Sereda took the steps two at a time in her eagerness to be done with the whole thing. _Even if we have no idea where we’re headed to next_ …

The castle’s great hall was stuffed with people once again, though mercifully, no fire roared in the hearth. The occupants all turned at the arrival of the wardens. Most seemed relieved, though Sereda thought she caught Jowan grimace and frown. Arlessa Isolde and Bann Teagan stood towards the back; Isolde’s pacing came to a halt when her eyes alit on Sereda’s face.

“Ah! There you are. We were becoming concerned.” Wynne smiled tightly and motioned to the cohort of mages behind her. Most sported scrapes or bruises, but they appeared chipper enough. “We have brought lyrium and begun preparations for the ritual. We can start anytime.”

The arlessa called out, moving through the crowd of mages. “We must hurry! Connor has been quiet upstairs for some time, but we don’t know how long that will last.” Sereda could make out dark purple bruises along the noblewoman’s collar and she felt a modicum of shame. _We should have come quicker_.

Wynne did a double-take of Sereda’s face and rushed forward, peeling back the bandage with a flurry of questions. Alistair laid a gentle hand on the mage’s arm and murmured, “Not now, Wynne.”

She nodded with a glare at the three of them and a look of confusion for Zevran. “We will talk about this later, I promise. Now, who will go into the Fade?”

“Morrigan is going.” Sereda saw Jowan out of the corner of her eye, shackled and disappointed to not be participating. Wynne pursed her lips at the choice but nodded all the same, looking to Morrigan. “Are you ready?”

The witch jerked her head up and stepped forward. Wynne helped her onto the cot they’d prepared, whispering words of encouragement. Morrigan glared, but her brow relaxed further and further as the healer readied her for the trip.

“Let us begin forthwith,” Wynne murmured, turning to her mages.

Sereda watched Isolde grab Teagan’s hand, her eyes locked on Morrigan’s bony frame. Alistair leaned down and whispered in her ear, his tone softer than it had been since the ferry, “Thank you for this.”

She brushed his hand and looked up to see warm eyes. _Maybe not so far after all_ … She gave him a quick nod before she returned her gaze onto the mages, their lips moving in soft synchrony. The cot scratched against the stone floor and Sereda watched in amazement as a field of green enveloped Morrigan. The chanting rose in volume and Wynne knelt down to Morrigan’s side, whispering in her ear.

Jowan shuffled over, his hands chained before him. “This will take some time,” he informed them, motioning to the pile of lyrium. “They’ll have to refuel a few times, I’m sure. My way would have been faster but, this is probably better…”

Sereda ignored his forlorn tone and nodded politely. She stood with Alistair and Zevran for some time, watching as the field around Morrigan undulated and contracted. The mages’ chanting grew louder for a moment and the green air expanded once more. Wynne let out a relieved sigh and continued her murmuring, laying a hand gently on Morrigan’s wild hair. Sereda shuffled from foot to foot, anxious in the silent gallery. She looked up at Alistair and saw how his eyes were locked on Morrigan, lips set firmly against any hope of discussion. Zevran watched with a softer gaze, but just as fascinated. It seemed only she was unsatisfied with the show.

She nodded to herself and left the hall, trusting Morrigan to Wynne’s capable hands. She avoided the stairs up to the second level, Isolde’s worried words ringing in her ears. Connor was complacent _now_ , but for how long? Sereda found herself in a short hallway instead, lined with suits of armor. She examined each in turn, the intricacies marking them as unique. The first had scrolling lines and flowers pressed into its chest, the second had a proud hound on each arm… Sereda traced the different images with her fingers, smiling to herself.

 _A moment of peace_. True, Morrigan was soon to be wandering the Fade, again, in search of a demon. But there was nothing Sereda could do, as she understood it. It was in the hands of the mages now. Sereda just wanted to enjoy an hour of respite, nowhere to be running to or from. _Ancestors know when I’ll have another_.

She made her way to the end of the hall, a grand wooden door cracked enticingly. Sereda pushed it open slowly, finding a small study within. It reminded her immediately of her father’s library and her heart panged, bittersweet. She crept forward as quietly as she could with the jingling of her armor accompanying each step. She perused the books and grinned at the bawdy titles interspersed with the serious tomes. When she tired of the books, she found herself at a large desk, polished wood covered in neat parchments and bottles of ink. Curiosity getting the better of her, Sereda pulled open the drawers, finding little of interest until she got to one at the bottom. It was locked.

 _Leliana picked the lock on Sten’s cage with ease_ , Sereda thought, looking at the small keyhole. She pulled two pins from her hair, letting her braids fall down her back. _Maybe I can do it too_.

She tried to do what Leliana had done, wiggling the pins within the lock. She heard a click and thought for a moment she had it, but when she pulled the drawer, it didn’t budge.

“I would not have expected such naughty behavior from a Grey Warden,” an accented voice from the door crooned. Sereda leapt up with burning cheeks to see Zevran leaning on the doorframe. “At least outside of a _Randy Dowager_ novel.”

“I… Umm…” Sereda’s blush grew and she held the pins behind her, mind whirling. “You see—”

“Say no more,” Zevran said, striding to the desk. “It has always been my philosophy that locks only serve to pique our interest.”

He pulled out tools similar to Leliana’s and went to his knees before the locked drawer. “Would you like me to show you how to do it?”

Sereda looked down the hallway, empty save the hollow knights. She nodded quickly and knelt beside Zevran, their heads bent together.

“So, this one,” Zevran whispered as he held up a small metal piece shaped like an L, “helps turn the lock.” He slid it into the lock and twisted it lightly back and forth.

He held up another tool, a handle on one end and a small curve to the other. “This one moves the pins. You have to feel, delicately, for each pin within the lock. When you press them in the correct sequence, the lock opens.”

“What’s the sequence?” Sereda whispered back, her heart thudding. She hated how thrilled she felt. Zevran looked up and smiled wolfishly.

“Each lock is unique, its own secrets revealing themselves only when you’ve made love to it.”

“That’s an… interesting way to put it,” Sereda chuckled, watching him work. “How do you know you’re doing it right?”

“It’s all about _feeling_ it. Here.” He pulled the tools out and placed them in her hands, laying his own over them. “You have to experience it yourself.”

He moved the tools with her hands, slender fingers over her short ones. She felt the resistance of the pins, giving away one by one. She grinned as Zevran murmured encouragements in her ears. The lock gave way with a final click, and Sereda pulled the drawer open excitedly.

Inside was a single roll of parchment and a worn amulet. She lifted it, noting the cracks running over silver flames.

“Well, all of that work for such little reward. This bauble is hardly worth a few coppers, I would guess.”

Sereda nodded absentmindedly and unrolled the parchment. It was a letter, multiple scratches crossing the page. She read it with widening eyes.

_Alistair,_

_I know how much this amulet meant to you, and to your mother. She wanted you to have it. Please accept it as an apology for my boorish behavior. I will always think of you as one of my own, no matter where you reside._

_Eamon_

“This is…” She looked up at Zevran’s expectant eyes, close to her own. “It’s important to someone.”

Zevran nodded as Sereda rerolled the letter and pocketed it, along with the amulet. Eamon was hardly in the condition to argue. Her heart constricted at the weight of it against her hip. Alistair and she were not on the greatest of terms, but she had to give it to him. He deserved to know how Eamon felt.

“Should we return to the others? They’ll notice our absence before long.”

Sereda nodded and allowed Zevran to help her to her feet. He pulled her closely against him, grinning down at her. He was taller than her, naturally, but not as far up as Alistair was.

“I have to admit, Warden, there is something… intriguing about you.”

She hated the breathless tone in her voice. “What do you mean?”

Zevran sighed with a shrug. “You seem so… noble, and yet you conscript an assassin to aide you. You come to help those in need, and steal from them while they aren’t looking…”

“It’s not stealing!” Sereda’s indignance fell on amused ears. “It belongs to… someone.”

He placed his hands on her hips, pressing against her. His smile softened into awe, and Sereda found herself melting against him. She would never admit it, but it was good to feel _wanted._

He murmured, “I don’t know what I expected from the Princess of Orzammar, but it certainly wasn’t this.” He cupped her uninjured cheek as he studied her face, the awestruck twinkle in his eyes mesmerizing. She enjoyed it for a moment, until her brain caught up to his words.

 _Wait…_ “What?!” Sereda pushed Zevran away, her cheek tingling where he’d touched her, as her mind whirled. “How did you—I don’t know what you’re—”

 “I would be a terrible assassin if I did not learn about my targets, Sereda Endrinson. I may have failed to kill _you_ , but I promise I am quite good at my job.”

“But, but,” she sputtered, moving around the desk to put a safe distance between them. “I haven’t told anyone that…”

“Loghain is not the first to have hired me. I was in Orzammar a few years ago to help a nobleman with his cousins, and I overheard talk of the beautiful princess and her dashing brother winning the Provings.” Zevran leaned on the desk and picked up a quill, twirling it between his fingers. “They all were saying how talented the Lady Aeducan was, how they hoped she would rule one day. ‘King Sereda’, they whispered. It was all very reverential. And imagine how it felt to be among the adoring throngs as the procession went by, the prince and princess waving and throwing golden coins.”

Sereda’s heart sank and her skin prickled. Her memory of tossing handfuls of coins like candies was crystal clear. The prize for winning meant nothing to children of the king, after all. Bhelen had laughed at her side, hurling his share of the winnings to those at the back of the crowd. Their people chanted the Aeducan name well into the early hours of the morning, celebrating a royal win with fervor. Meanwhile, Sereda’s celebration was being pinned by Gorim’s arms in an alley behind the palace, moans muffled by her pushed up gown…

Zevran continued in the same murmur, “When Arl Howe came to the Crows, asking for the heads of Warden Alistair and a fierce exiled dwarf named Warden Sereda, I put two and two together.”

 “Please don’t tell the others,” Sereda pleaded. “What do you want for your silence?”

Zevran screwed his brows together, cocking his head to the side. “My silence? I have no plans to spill the secrets of those who’ve shown me kindness. It is clear that they are not aware of your prestige, and I’ve met enough exiles to know that it is not a title given lightly. You have my word, Warden, that your past is your own.”

Sereda slowly let out the breath she held, her body relaxing a touch. “And _I_ am the intriguing one,” she muttered, drawing another smile from the elf.

Before they could resume whatever was brewing between them, a cry sounded from above. “Mother!”

Zevran and Sereda ran from the study to see Isolde barrel past them and up the stairs, crying out in Orlesian as she went. Teagan rushed after her, Alistair and the other knights hot on his heels. Sereda followed while Zevran went to check on the mages.

In a room at the top of the stairs, Sereda found Isolde and Teagan hugging Connor in turn, tears on their cheeks and words both scolding and loving. Alistair turned to her with a wide grin and Sereda’s heart soared.

The boy soon grew weary of his attendants; Connor dismissed them all to return to his toys. Teagan insisted on leaving a pair of guards at the door, but he ushered the relieved assembly from the boy’s room all the same. Alistair trotted off to check on the arl, the ghost of a smile still on his face.

“So, it is over.” Teagan’s relief was palpable as he led Isolde to a nearby seat. “Connor is his old self and he does not seem to remember anything, which is a blessing.”

He looked down at the arlessa, her eyes shut in fervent prayer, and said, “I suppose we will need to send him to the Circle for… training. Once the war is over, of course. It’s so odd to think of the boy as a mage, of all things…”

Isolde’s eyes snapped open and she grabbed Sereda’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “I owe you my deepest thanks. I had nearly… I can scarcely believe Connor is the boy he once was.”

“We couldn’t leave him that way,” Sereda said lamely. _We needed your men to fight our war_. Though it was the truth, it was hardly diplomatic.

Alistair returned then with a mournful shake of his head. He murmured to the group, “Whatever the demon did to the arl, it seems to have saved his life… but he’s still comatose. We couldn’t wake him.”

“The Urn!” Isolde exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “The Urn of Sacred Ashes will save Eamon!”

Sereda and Alistair shared a pained look. Carefully, she said, “The Urn is a legend. It might never be found.”

The bann took the arlessa’s arm gently and began to agree with Sereda before Isolde cut him off. “My husband funded the research of a scholar in Denerim—a Brother Genitivi. When Eamon fell ill, I sent the knights to speak to him. I hoped that he had finally discovered the location of the Urn itself.”

Her mouth fell into a frown as she continued, “They were unable to locate him. In… desperation, I sent more knights in search of the brother or some clue of the Urn’s location. You could go to Denerim and pick up their trail.”

Sereda kept herself from rolling her eyes, but just barely. “I have the darkspawn to contend with.” _I am not your errand girl._

Teagan turned on her. “Eamon is well-respected and powerful. He can pull Ferelden together. If you wish to fight the darkspawn, you will need him. If no one else can find this relic, then you must. I would do it myself, but I cannot abandon Redcliffe to its own devices.”

Sereda pursed her lips and looked between the two humans. They looked back with desperate eyes. She hazarded a glance at Alistair, who wore the same worried expression. Through clenched teeth, the warden relented. “I will see if I can find this urn, then.”

“Excellent.” Isolde gave her a tight smile. “And I will have rooms prepared for you and your companions. Please excuse me.”

As she hurried off, Teagan clapped a hand to Sereda’s shoulder. She tried not to wince. “I’m sure you will be more successful. Or we may never be able to rouse the arl.”

He left with Alistair in tow, a rambling list of instructions being fed to the warden. Sereda leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, her fingers finding the sturdy rock beneath her. She took a deep breath as the heaviness in heart lifted at the cool stone caressing the roughened skin of her fingertips.

“It’s never enough,” she whispered. “Is it?”

A twinkling voice interrupted her misery. “Well surely one day, it will be.” Sereda’s eyes snapped up to see Leliana’s healing face, smiling brightly high above her. The sister helped her to her feet and hugged her, only pulling away when Sereda yelped.

“We got here just as Morrigan was waking up. The mage Wynne asked me to find you—Maker’s breath, what has happened to _you_?”

The story of the Circle, the hurlock and the assassins, it all spilled from Sereda at the look of concern crinkled in Leliana’s face. They traded stories as they walked to check on Morrigan, the sister having little in the way of excitement at camp. Morrigan was awake but exhausted. She gave Sereda a thin smile and allowed the dwarf to hold her hand for a moment. A servant arrived to show them to their quarters and Morrigan willingly took Wynne’s offer of help, the mages shuffling out of view.

“We’ll speak more tomorrow,” Leliana promised as they parted at the top of the stairs and Sereda felt more than a little relief at the idea of unloading some of her burden.

Tears flowed freely when Sereda saw the hot bath waiting her in her room. If not for her bruised body, she would have run to its steaming waters, but she still stripped her armor and clothes as quickly as she could. She clambered into the tub with a bittersweet groan. The red dirt of the road flowed off of her, and she leaned back and shut her eyes.

 _To Denerim, then_. A big city, the seat of government. Loghain was sure to be there, but it would be easy to blend in with the other refugees. Well, Zevran would have to stay at camp because of the Crows… _And we need to find the Dalish_. She squeezed her eyes tighter. She wouldn’t even entertain the thought of Orzammar right then. She wanted to talk to Alistair, to get his opinion on matters, but she was sure he was still upset with her, despite his grin at Connor’s rehabilitation. The bath lost its appeal as their arguments swam in the pool of her mind, and Sereda reluctantly climbed from the tub. She took the fluffy towels the servants had left and dried herself, wishing she didn’t have to pull on the same ratty tunic and trousers she’d been wearing since Ostagar. _No choice there_ , she said as she relented, dressing with a grimace.

There was a vanity in her room and she hesitated. _Do I really want to see_? She’d felt the sunburns across her nose and cheeks, pressed against bruises and scrapes with wincing eyes, and stroked the healing line of her cheek. _Once I look_ , she knew, _the old me is gone._ Her mind could never go back to how she looked before.

 _Oh, don’t be such a sentimental fool_ , she thought as she sat herself at the vanity. _You’re still Sereda_. Zevran had said she was beautiful, how bad could it be?

She could hardly believe what she saw when she finally laid eyes on herself for the first time in months. The face that looked back at her was so different than that of Sereda Endrinson that she could scarcely remember how she’d looked before. The Lady Aeducan did not have flecks of brown across her cheeks and nose, nor did she have cracked lips. Her unscarred cheek was gaunt, her cheekbones jutting out sharply. Cuts dissected her left eyebrow over her bruised eye, red lines surrounding the ice-blue of her pupil. Sereda peeled away the bandage Morrigan had applied and suppressed a cry of dismay. The jagged line was healing, she was sure, but it still marred a cheek that the bards of Orzammar had described as “marble inlaid with rubies”. Sereda felt tears welling at the sight and tore her eyes away, studying her fingers instead.

She had once been beautiful, once was the shining example for all in Orzammar. Now she was broken. Zevran remembered watching a princess and warrior throwing gold to the masses. Where was she in this battle-worn face? She met her eyes again. Would she ever come back?

A knock broke her trance. “Sereda? It’s me.”

She smiled sadly at the voice, though she’d hid it before she shuffled to the door. She pulled it open wordlessly and returned to her seat at the vanity as fast as her bruises would let her. Alistair occupied the doorway, one foot in and one still in the hall.

He waited a few beats before speaking, and his voice was rough as if disused. “Now that we’ve finally got a moment, I want to talk about what happened.”

Sereda sighed and wiped surreptitiously at her eyes. Alistair’s eyebrows flew up when he saw her tears, but he remained silent. Cautiously, she replied, “What’s on your mind?”

“I just wanted to thank you.” When her mouth dropped in surprise, his lips quirked and he took a step into the room. “You went out of your way to try to save the arl’s family and… you did it, even though it would have been easier not to. There’s been so much death and destruction, it… well, it makes me feel good that at least we were able to save something, no matter how small. I owed the arl that much.”

“You’re welcome,” she said flatly. Her heart thudded painfully, keeping any joy from her voice.

The slight upturn to his lips fell away. “Good. That’s all I had to say.” He moved back to the door with a frown, and Sereda’s heart skipped a wrenched beat.

“Alistair—” She called to him, though she didn’t know what else to say. “I just…” _…don’t want to be alone anymore_.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, turning back to her. His brown eyes were pained. “About all of this. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, or doubted you, or… hidden the truth.”

He closed the gap between them in two long strides, kneeling at her feet with tears in his eyes. He reached out and stroked her ruined cheek and she fought the urge to flinch away. She didn’t want him to see her like this, but Alistair smiled weakly and Sereda felt her lips mirror it.

She released a breath she didn’t know she held and gave her own apology. “And I’m sorry for wandering off. You’re right, I know better than that.” She chuckled. “And for being petulant.”

“Can we just go back,” Alistair asked in a whisper. He laid a hand on her knee. “To before the Circle, before all of this?”

 _To the ferry_. She wanted to smile and hold him and pretend it all hadn’t happened, but her heart was still heavy when she met his eyes.

“I…” She took a deep breath and slowly released it, willing herself not to cry. “I don’t know if I can.” Alistair took her hands in his.

Whispering, he asked, “Do you remember what I said to you, right after your Joining?” He didn’t wait for her confirmation. “Not having a choice doesn’t make you less brave. You are the most… courageous person I’ve ever met. The way you just dive into every fight without a second thought and you are always there to help those in need…”

She blushed and squeezed his hands. Tears welled up, despite her best efforts to quell them.

He continued with earnest eyes. “We’ll get through this together. We’ll get all of these… idiots to help us and we _will_ kill that Archdemon.” Sereda laughed and wiped at her tears. “And when we’re done, we’ll find a way out. I swear, Sereda. I just need you to try to forget about the Calling, for now. And I promise I’ll tell you of any other Warden rituals as soon as I find out about them. Deal?”

“Deal,” Sereda said with a laugh. His face finally relaxed into a grin. He took her hand again and brought it to his lips tentatively, his eyes locked on hers. Her skin burned and her heart fluttered. It was a good start.

He sat himself on the stone floor at her feet, crossing his legs before him. He still held her hand. “Now what do we do? It makes sense to go to Denerim to find this brother, but the darkspawn won’t wait forever.”

Sereda nodded. “Maybe we should split up.”

Alistair’s eyes widened. “What?! You trust any of our companions to talk to the brother alone, or the elves? What about the dwarves?”

The idea of Morrigan questioning a sworn brother or Sten parlaying with the elves made Sereda giggle. She shook her head and reasoned, “What if I lead one group, and you took the other? It would be the fastest way.”

Alistair’s face fell, but he quipped, “What? Lead? Me? No, no, no leading. Bad things happen when I lead. We get lost, people die, and the next thing you know I’m stranded somewhere without any pants.”

Sereda smiled and patted his hand. “You’d do fine, Alistair. I have faith in you. And your pants.”

He beamed again and squeezed her fingers tightly. “Well, how can I say no after such a shining endorsement?”

“You should go to Denerim,” Sereda reasoned. “I can take Morrigan and Zevran to find the Dalish—”

“Whoa, no way. No _way_ am I letting you go off alone with an assassin.”

“Well Zevran’s trying to _avoid_ Denerim, remember? Besides, what’s he going to do to me? He’s sworn an oath.”

Alistair’s cheeks went red and he shrugged. “I wouldn’t trust that elf as far as I could throw him.”

Sereda rolled her eyes, though there was no deep annoyance behind it. “Then Zevran can go with you to seek the Dalish. And I’ll go to Denerim.” _And we’ll steer clear of Orzammar for now_.

Alistair didn’t like it, but he agreed nonetheless. They divided the rest of their group; Wynne and Zevran were to go with Alistair and Leliana, Morrigan, and Sten were to stay with Sereda. She could tell he was worried about her and she didn’t press it, too glad was she that he was holding her hand and smiling again.

“Now, how crazy was Uldred?” Alistair whispered as they finished their plans. Sereda’s eyes widened and she nodded vigorously, words tumbling easily from her injured lips. They talked about all they’d seen, the surreal visions of the Fade bleeding into the madness that was their afternoon in the castle. Eventually Alistair noticed her drooping eyes and excused himself with a slight smile.

“Get some rest,” he murmured, helping her to her bed with gentle hands.

Sereda gave a breathy laugh. “I’m going to sleep like a deshyr without siblings, that’s for sure.” She slipped between the sheets with a happy sigh.

“Uhh… does that mean you’ll sleep well?” She chuckled and nodded. Alistair waited a beat at the side of her bed before he strode from the room with only a wave serving as his farewell. Sereda drifted towards the blissful darkness with a smile on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And I hope you'll forgive some canon divergence... And with this chapter, _Kallak_ is now over 100k words! That's crazy!!
> 
> Thank you for reading! All of your comments, kudos, and positive vibes are always appreciated!


	27. Chapter 27

They did not waste time the next morning packing up and leaving. Sereda could feel Isolde’s anxiety rolling off of her in waves, and the warden wanted to resolve Eamon’s illness if only to stem the tide. Alistair was making longer farewells to the arlessa and the bann while Sereda waited with her crew, impatient to be on the road.

“Sereda? May I speak with you,” Morrigan asked, her voice still rough from too many hours abed. Sereda nodded and they stepped to the side, earning a glance from Wynne.

She realized that she had never gone back to check in on Morrigan. Sheepishly, she asked, “How are you feeling, Morrigan? We didn’t get a chance to speak much yesterday…”

Morrigan waved away her concern. “I am fine. This trip to the Fade was infinitely more enlightening than that of the Circle.” Morrigan chuckled. “The demon did its best to tempt me into sparing it, but there’s little that would sway me. It did confirm something I had feared, though.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Morrigan sighed and Sereda’s skin prickled to hear the shudder in her breath. “I had been studying my mother’s grimoire, in secret, before we left on this foolish mission. It is written in an ancient tongue that she believed I could not learn, but I did. She wrote, in great detail, the means by which she has survived for centuries.”

“A spell?” Sereda’s awestruck voice was met with a grimace from Morrigan.

“If only ‘twere so. According to her words, she has raised many daughters over her long lifetime. There are stories of Witches of the Wilds throughout Chasind legend, yet I have never seen another one and always wondered why not.’

“And now I know. They are all Flemeth. When her body becomes old and wizened, she raises a daughter. And when the time is right, she takes her daughter’s body for her own.”

Sereda gasped and Morrigan nodded. Through her fingers, the warden asked, “So is Flemeth immortal, then?”

“Whatever spark of the demon that made her what she is keeps her from dying of old age, but her body still deteriorates. I thought it was impossible, but the demon who was possessing Connor confirmed it. So Flemeth must seek a new body, a fresh body, and start the cycle anew.” She shivered and pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. “The grimoire details the preparation and training of these daughters. I recognize all of it now… I am to be her next host. That is my purpose.”

“Morrigan, I’m _so_ sorry—”

She interrupted, snapping, “I have no need of pity.” When she saw Sereda’s shamed face, she added, softer. “But thank you.”

“And you’re certain?” Sereda kept the spark of skepticism from her voice. She knew little of magic, but it seemed more far-fetched than usual.

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “I would not mention it if I were not. The ritual and the preparation is primarily what this tome details. I recognize all of it.” Her face paled as she continued, “I… am to be her next host. This is my purpose.”

Sereda wanted to comfort her friend, but how could she? _I have murderous family members, too,_ didn’t seem appropriate. She went with pragmatism. “But why would she risk sending you with me?”

“I do not know.” Morrigan tossed up a hand. “Perhaps ‘tis as she said: the darkspawn threaten her as much as anyone else. Or perhaps she believes that this journey will make me more powerful. Apparently, if the host is already powerful, it takes far less time for Flemeth to… settle in.”

Sereda grimaced. The idea of the old woman with her strange eyes taking over Morrigan’s body… She had to shake the image from her head before she asked, “Are you safe here with us? Safe from the ritual?”

Morrigan shook her head, narrowing her eyes. “There is only one possible way to stay free from her: Flemeth needs to die.”

“Kill Flemeth?” Sereda took an unconscious step backward. “Isn’t that a little extreme?”

“It may seem so,” Morrigan said with a scoff, “if you think of Flemeth as a _mother_. Think of her, instead, as an ancient abomination that intends to use her own flesh and blood to extend her life beyond all natural limits!”

Her voice rose as she went on, “I will not sit about like an empty sack waiting to be filled!”

Sereda pulled her farther from the others when Sten glared and Zevran turned his head. “Alright, alright. We’ll kill Flemeth. After we find Genitivi, we’ll go back to the Wilds and take care of it. I promise, no harm will come to you.”

Morrigan nodded, though her nostrils still flared. “Thank you, Sereda. I… I will find some way to repay you.”

Before Sereda could dismiss the idea, Alistair jogged up, calling out, “Are you two done gossiping? We should hit the road.”

Sereda nodded to Morrigan briefly before going to Alistair’s side, the rest of their band falling in behind.

She thought of Morrigan and Flemeth the whole day on the road. The idea that Flemeth could raise daughters only to kill them and use their bodies was one of the strangest things Sereda had discovered on the surface. Her own mother had been kind-hearted and gentle, a complement to her father’s commanding presence. _I suppose all mothers can’t be the same_ … She glanced at Alistair, leading them from Redcliffe. What would his mother have been like if she had survived? Would Alistair be a Warden now? Or would he be happy, far away from the death and destruction of the Blight?

_If my mother were alive_ , she thought as they finally found a spot to camp just at the fork in the Imperial Highway, _I would never have been exiled_. The queen was loving, but not easily fooled. She would have seen right through Bhelen’s lies. _She would have saved me_. Sereda felt Alistair’s mother’s amulet in her purse. _But if I wasn’t a Warden, I’d have never met him…_ She thanked the Ancestors for their wisdom as she set up her tent, smiling to herself.

Dusk caressed the camp, the air cooling to just that magical temperature when Sereda finally did not feel overly hot or exceptionally cold. She shucked her armor, feeling safe amongst the flora of the surface, and left her tent in search of supper. She’d had enough introspection for the day, but the camp was nearly empty. It was Sten’s turn to cook, so most of her companions had retired to their tents early, begging off with stomachaches and flesh wounds abounding. The qunari didn’t seem to notice the lack of willing gourmets and ladled his stew into three bowls, humming a little tune. Alistair and Sereda took theirs with forced smiles, and Sten carried his bowl back to his own bedroll.

They were sitting by the fire, two logs dragged over from the forest to act as benches.

“I really hope that this is cooked all the way through this time. I can’t afford to be sick for the night again.” Alistair poked at a lump in the bowl, shuddering.

“Shall I remind you what happened when you tried to make that fennec roast?” The green hue to the meat still haunted her whenever it was Alistair’s turn to prepare supper.

“Ha, ha, Alistair’s bad at cooking. Little did they know it was all part of his evil plan!” He wiggled his fingers at her, grinning when she laughed.

Sereda humored him, taking a hesitant sip of the stew. It wasn’t half bad, but she was hardly in the position to be picky. “And what exactly is Alistair’s evil plan?”

Alistair leaned forward, eyes bright with excitement, “Well, firstly, it’s to lure you all into a false sense of security—”

“Naturally,” Sereda interjected, earning a hush from Alistair.

“Then, he plans to cook dinner one night. It’ll smell delicious, the alluring aroma of meat wafting throughout the whole camp. One by one, he’ll offer his companions a bowl, cackling as they fall ill to the poisonous stew!”

“Oh no!” Sereda covered her mouth and made her eyes wide, laughter muffled behind her fingers. Alistair was chuckling too, as his story became more ludicrous. Sten glared at them from his bedroll, but they ignored his ire as usual.

He stood up and gesticulated wildly. “Now, the companions aren’t stupid. When they’ve figured out what he’s done the witch will try to cast a spell before she’s silenced, but Alistair will dispel her magic! Of course, the other mage will still be a threat, so he’ll bring down the fist of the Maker and smite her! Then, the bard will attempt to choke out a rousing song, until Alistair clonks her over the head with his mace. The qunari will be much harder, so Alistair will simply run him through with a sword as he’s tossing his cookies in the bushes. He’ll have to be crafty with the elf, naturally. He’ll set out a fine blade, and Alistair will slit his throat when he’s stooped to admire it! And when only the dwarven Warden is left, he’ll throw her over his shoulder, take her back to his tent and—” He suddenly stopped, his cheeks flushing. The laughter was replaced with a strangled sound of surprise in Sereda’s throat.

She cocked an eyebrow up at him. “And he…?” she asked helpfully. Alistair sat back down at her question, shoveling stew into his mouth.

“Kills her. Dead, right there, just kills her,” he mumbled, his eyes on his bowl. Sereda grinned and watched his blushing face. Her heart seemed to float within her chest. Perhaps now was the time… But they were to split up at daybreak, not the time for declarations. She decided to let the moment pass, as much as she wanted to seize it.

She encouraged him, “Well, why is Alistair doing all of this?”

He perked back up, some of the color fading away. “Oh, he’s in league with the Archdemon. You see, he was orphaned as a child, and the Archdemon took him in. He’s known no other life. The Archdemon was a good father, caring and wise, and Alistair wants to make him proud.” The pair giggled. The tension began to slip away and as much as Sereda wanted to bring it back, she was glad to just be sitting and talking. It seemed ages since they were able to relax.

“But Alistair told everyone he was raised by dogs! Devout ones!”

“That’s his cover. You can’t well question a dog, can you?” Sereda glanced over at Salroka, who was snoring in his corner of the camp.

Looking back at Alistair, she enthused, “You really should write that down, Alistair. You’re great at telling stories.”

Alistair scoffed and shook his head. “I just say whatever comes to my mind. It’s stupid.”

She laid a hand on his arm, smiling when he laid his own over it. “It’s not! I love hearing your stories.”

“Leliana’s the bard, not me,” he said bashfully, his brown eyes meeting her blue. “Besides, I’m a Warden, not a writer.”

“You could be. All you need is ink and parchment,” she insisted.

He chuckled and relented with a shake of his head, “You’re right. It’s just… I used to write, actually. When I was a child in the Chantry, I would make up these stories instead of doing my assignments. Once, this mean, nasty sister named Moira snatched everything I had written and threw it into the fire. She never liked me.” The bitter note in his voice was clear. “She told me that a templar should focus on his duties, not hobbies.” He contemplated his stew before setting it on the ground, his appetite fleeing.

“Well,” Sereda began, putting her own bowl on the ground as well, “it’s a good thing you’re a Warden now. There aren’t any rules against storytelling for us, right?”

“Right!” The cheer returned to his face, and Sereda’s heart lifted with it.

“I myself have never had the talent for storytelling.” She pondered for a moment, before adding slowly, “Fighting’s really the _only_ thing I’m good at.”

“I was just thinking the same thing!” He caught her glare and said with a chuckle, “It’s a good thing you’re good at it. We still have a lot of it ahead. I have a feeling finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes won’t be the simple task Isolde thinks it’ll be.”

“Agreed.”

He bumped against her with a grin. “Thank you, again. I know you don’t know Arl Eamon yet, but he’s… Well, it means a lot to me that you’re willing to help,” he confided, his voice low. Sereda rested her hand on his, her heart skipping a beat at the warmth of his skin.

“We’re in this together. Always.” She leaned over and rested her head on his arm, too short to reach his shoulder sitting. “All we’ve got is each other now.”

 “Until dawn, that is,” He murmured forlornly. Sereda nodded, dreading the coming sun for the first time. Through the trees, one could just make out the signs pointing to Denerim and the Brecilian Forest.

But, there was business to take care of yet. Sereda could feel the weight of the amulet against her hip still, and she thought now was as a good a time as any.

“With everything that’s going on, I forgot to give you these.” She handed the necklace and parchment over unceremoniously, her cheeks flushing.

His eyes went round as he studied the gifts, finally whispering, “This… this is my mother’s amulet. It has to be. But why isn’t it broken? Where did you find it?” His eyes flicked down to hers with his last question and she stood to pace.

“I found it in the castle, in the study,” she said as nonchalantly as she could manage. She left off the locked drawer it was contained in, and how she got it out. _Some things are best kept secret._

“The arl’s study? Then he must have… found it after I threw it at the wall. But he repaired it and kept it? Why would he do that?” His choked voice compelled her to close the gap between them, and she rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Perhaps you mean more to him than you think,” she replied gently, motioning to the parchment. “Read it.”

He laid the amulet down to read the arl’s words, his lips moving with his eyes. When he finished it, his upturned face was streaked with tears. He took a shuddering breath and Sereda swiped her thumb over his cheek.

“We… we never really talked that much, and the way I left… I’ll need to talk to him about this. If—when he recovers from his…” Alistair chuckled. “I wish I’d had this a long time ago.”

He lifted the amulet up and the charm shone in the firelight. “Thank you. I mean it. I… thought I’d lost this to my own stupidity.”

“Of course, Alistair. I couldn’t leave it there, even with everything…”

“Did you remember me mentioning it?” When she nodded, his face turned reverent. “Wow. I’m more used to people _not_ listening when I go on about things.”

Sereda’s cheek flushed and she stammered. “Well, of course I…” She took a steadying breath and reminded herself she was a grown woman, not a maid. She should be able to tell him how she felt, without hesitation. “Of course I remembered. You’re special to me, Alistair.”

He beamed up at her with a small shake of his head.

“Is this the part where the music starts and we begin dancing?” He set the amulet down and stood, taking her right hand in his and resting his other on her back. “Because I’m game. Where’re the minstrels?”

She laughed and relished being pressed against him, though her eyes were level with his chest. She placed her free hand on his arm, the way she had seen in paintings. “You’ll have to lead; I’ve never had a talent for dancing.”

Alistair pulled her up so she stood on her tiptoes and twirled about. “That’s a relief. Now you won’t know how terrible _I_ am.”

Their height difference was comical, and no music played to keep them in time, but Sereda could not help but feel like the scullery maid who became a princess with a wish.

Alistair spun them around and Sereda shrieked merrily as the camp blurred for a moment. “That’s really my only move,” he confessed. “I hope you like spinning.”

“Dwarves are known for their balance and sturdiness, you know,” Sereda said, laughing as Alistair lifted her up, their faces level now, and whirled around again. “I could do this all day without getting sick.”

“That makes one of us,” Alistair quipped, setting her down and returning to a slow sway.

Sereda looked up at him with a helpless grin, her heart soaring to see its mirror on his lips. As much as she wanted to avoid declarations, she couldn’t help it when the campfire flickered over his face. _Just one won’t hurt…_

“Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?”

Even in the firelight, Sereda could see the blush painting Alistair’s cheeks. “Not unless they were asking me for a favor. Well,” he amended, “there was that one time in Denerim, but those women were… not like you.”

He spun again and asked, his voice half-choked, “Why? Is this your way of telling me… _you_ think I’m handsome?”

Sereda laughed and rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “You _know_ you’re handsome, Alistair.”

“Maybe.” He winked. “It doesn’t hurt to have a pretty girl say it, though. Beats being run through with a sword any day!”

He pulled her in close, and Sereda sighed happily to hear his heart beat against her ear. She could sense the hum of his necklace, she realized. It was different than her own, but it calmed her all the same, the reverberations of both settling in her bones.

Alistair murmured, drawing her from her thoughts. “So… is this the part where I get to say the same?”

She pulled back and looked up, fighting the grin making its way on to her lips. “Not unless you don’t think so.”

“Oh,” Alistair laughed and his voice dropped low. “I think so. But I’ll just spring it on you when it’s a surprise.”

Sereda guffawed, her heart thudding in an almost painful tattoo in her chest. Her nose crinkled with the laugh and her smile went wide enough that the scar on her cheek puckered, but Alistair’s matching grin made her forget it.

It had been so long since she had felt as giddy as this. Gorim never made her feel like a maid; his reverence always came before his affection. Princesses and commanders were to be worshipped, not wooed. It seemed Grey Wardens could have both.

“I need to tell you,” Sereda met Alistair’s eyes, tempering her smile some, “how much I enjoy your company.”

She could feel his sharp intake of breath and her heart soared when he nodded vehemently. “You know, I was just thinking the same thing.”

Alistair released her enough for her to step out into a twirl. She managed to do it, clumsily, turning the wrong way at first and stepping on Alistair’s foot, and they both laughed. “I really am _not_ good at dancing,” she protested with another giggle.

“I think you’re great at it.” They resumed their swaying. “Anyway, given the circumstances, things could have been so much worse. I’m so grateful that you’re you, instead of… some other Grey Warden.”

Sereda thought of Ryland and Jon, Percy too. _Would I be dancing with them?_ She doubted it. She gave Alistair a near-smile, her joy tempered to think of her dead brothers-in-arms.

Alistair seemed to think the melancholy was his fault. “Umm… that sounded better in my head. I just mean to say that I’ve really come to care for you.”  He sighed as he said it and Sereda would long remember the hopeful look in his eyes. “I actually have something I’ve been meaning to give to you, too. Wait here.” He broke their swaying and Sereda chastised herself for the pang that she felt when he left.

He jogged away to his bedroll, rummaging in his pack. Sereda watched him as he went; she enjoyed seeing him out of his plate. He was somehow more imposing when he wore his plain clothes. She mused it was the way the cloth hit his legs just right, or where it strained over his arms…

“Here, look at this,” he said, interrupting her lascivious daydreaming. She took the object, a plant of some sort, and twirled it between her fingers, her brow wrinkling. “Do you know what this is?”

“Your new choice of weapon?” Sereda grinned as Alistair rolled his eyes.

“Yes, that’s right! Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements!” He shook his hands at the sky, shouting, “Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!”

She laughed and relented, “It’s a plant.” She looked at the red petals, stroking one lightly. It was cool to the touch and soft, it reminded her of skin, in a strange way.

Alistair nodded. “A rose. I… picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, ‘How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?’ He shrugged with a bashful smile. “I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn’t. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So, I’ve had it ever since. Morrigan actually… She put a spell on it so it wouldn’t wilt.”

The image of him and Morrigan, standing together on the road in Lothering came to mind. How pink his cheeks were when he’d returned to her side… Sereda’s eyes flicked up to his brown ones, warm and dark in the dying light of the campfire.

“That’s a nice sentiment,” she breathed, knowing it didn’t express the light flutter in her chest. She lifted the rose to her face, brushing the petals with her lips and inhaling. It was an interesting smell, uniquely of nature. It smelled… wet somehow, as though it was imbued with water. She liked it, different as it was. Certainly, more than rain or mud, roses were a nice discovery.

Alistair let out a breath of relief and continued with a stammer. “I… Well, I just thought—I thought I might give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I… When I look at—um—you. When I look at you.”

Sereda looked up from the rose, eyes widening in time with her hammering heart. He went on. “I was just thinking… here I am doing all this complaining, and you haven’t exactly been having a good time of it yourself.” He took her free hand and clasped it between his. “You’ve had none of the good experience of being a Warden since your Joining, not a word of thanks or congratulations. It’s all been death and fighting and tragedy.”

He met her eyes earnestly, a smile breaking out below his blushed cheeks. “I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this… darkness.”

Sereda’s eyes teared, for once out of joy and not sorrow. She choked them back and replied, her voice shaky, “I feel the same way about you, Alistair. Thank you.” They beamed at one another, the sounds around them dimming with the hush of impending night.

“I’m glad you like it. Now…” He chuckled and his voice dropped low as he said, “If we could move right on past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I’d appreciate it.”

Sereda laughed, pretending to toss the rose over her shoulder. “Sounds good! Off with the pants, then!”

Alistair guffawed, his cheeks going from pink to a matching red to his rose. “Bluff called! Damn! She saw right through me!” He shrugged with another laugh.

“You’re so cute when you’re bashful,” she admitted, surprising even herself. To tell him he was handsome was one thing, but _cute_ was another entirely… _By the Stone, get a hold of yourself!_

He motioned back towards his bedroll, though she still held his hand. “I’ll be… I’ll be standing over here. Until the blushing stops. Have to preserve whatever is left of my cool exterior. Just to be, uh, safe. You know how it is.”

_You don’t need to go!_ Weeks of coy smiles and shared embraces, to what end? Even Gorim hadn’t been _this_ shy, and he was worried about being beaten or exiled for touching her. Sereda blurted, unable to contain herself anymore, “Where do you see this going between us?”

Alistair’s eyes widened and he chuckled awkardly. “Wow. You, uh, don’t hold back on the hard questions, huh?”

Her heart sank some but she squeezed his fingers, pulling him closer. He slowly brushed her scarring cheek, his eyes turning down with a frown. “I don’t know where this is going. I know where I want it to go, but we have the Blight to think of, first, don’t we? Everything else just seems so… distant.”

“You’re right. It’s just…” _It’s now or never_. “I won’t let you go, Alistair. No matter what.”

He pulled her in, wrapping himself around her. She blinked back tears as his lips met the top of her hair. He murmured against her, “Let’s hope we have that option.”

They stayed like that for a time and Sereda sniffled, once, twice. Alistair held her tighter in response. “Please…” He sounded as heartbroken as she felt. “Let’s… just talk about this another time. Let’s enjoy this time now.”

She nodded against his chest before pushing away. She forced a bright smile onto her face. “Care to teach me the remigold?”

Alistair laughed and wiped away his own tears. “Of course, dear. Now, first you position your hands up like this…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥♥♥
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> Thank you for all the comments, kudos, and views! I really appreciate all of you guys!!


	28. Chapter 28

Dawn came as inevitable as death, and Sereda stumbled from her tent, bleary-eyed. The fortnight on the road had passed in a blur, but they’d finally arrived late in the evening, stone and iron looming over them. They’d set up camp as quickly as their worn limbs allowed them, and Sereda had fallen into a sleep as heavy as her heart.

She’d believed, erroneously, that without Alistair there to fight with Morrigan, the days would be peaceful. But the witch bristled at the bard’s songs and the Qunari warrior could not stand the mana-fueled protections Morrigan set up each evening. Sereda spent most of her time with Salroka; the hound at least was having the time of his life hunting and running about the forest. _And we’re this close to finding Genitivi and getting the cure._ With a bit of the Ancestors’ blessing, Alistair would be meeting them soon, the promise of help from the Dalish in hand.

Sereda sighed and rubbed her eyes, heading to the fire with her gifted dagger and whetstone. The sound of her sharpening her blade seemed to draw Sten from the surrounding trees, and he dropped to the ground across from her.

He glared at her above the flickering flames, and soon Sereda could no longer ignore it. Sten woke much earlier than the rest most days, so he could hardly be blaming Sereda for rousing him. And Leliana wasn’t even singing loud enough to draw ire.

“What’s the matter, Sten?” Sereda fought back the sigh forming in her gut. It’s always something. She set down her dagger and her whetstone and folded her hands on her lap.

He cocked his head as he regarded her. “I don’t understand. You look like a woman.”

Sereda looked around her to see if any of her other companions were within earshot. Salroka snored near her tent. Bodahn organized his wagon and Morrigan was speaking to Sandal, their heads bent over her staff they waited for the fruits and salted meat Leliana was unpacking from their supplies.

“Are you… Are you flirting with me, Sten?”

“Flirting? I don’t know this word. Speak the common tongue,” he admonished her. “You are a Grey Warden. So, it follows that you can’t be a woman.”

Sereda rolled her eyes. “Grey Wardens can’t be women?”

Sten nodded, his eyes still studying her face. “Women are priests, artisans, shopkeepers, or farmers. They don’t fight.”

“That’s not a universal truth. Some women fight.” She prepared herself to list off the female warriors she knew, but Sten’s vehement shake of his head distracted her.

“Why would women ever wish to be men? That makes no sense.”

“They don’t wish to be men. They wish to be women who fight.”

He gestured to the sky wildly. “Do they also wish to live on the moon? That’s as attainable!”

Sereda narrowed her eyes and held up her dagger. “I’m a woman, and I’m fighting.”

“One of those things can’t be true. A person is born: qunari, or human, or elven, or dwarf. He doesn’t choose that. The size of his hands, whether he is clever or foolish, the land he comes from, the color of his hair. These are beyond his control. We do not choose, we simply are.”

Leliana called that breakfast was ready, drawing the debaters focus for a moment.

“But a person can choose what to do,” she asserted, standing.

“Can they?” Sten asked thoughtfully, standing as well.

Sereda pondered Sten’s question over breakfast, the apples souring in her stomach. She took her portion of meat with another sigh and rolled her eyes. _Give it to Sten to ruin perfectly good…_ She stared at the salted flesh in her hand. She had no clue what sort of animal it came from. _It’s food you didn’t have to prepare_ , she reminded herself and she took a large bite.

When breakfast was finished, Morrigan, Leliana, Sten, and Sereda headed towards the city. Salroka stayed behind happily enough, his wet snout tousling Sandal’s hair. Bodahn wished them well and set up his cart to entice travelers just before reaching the gates. Sereda could hear his calls of shocking sales and amazing deals nearly until they reached the city.

The massive iron grates welcomed them without ado, and Sereda breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been more-than-half afraid the city would be on guard and they would have to explain their business. While Zevran hadn’t been successful, the next assassin that found her might not be so inept.

Their feet found hard-packed dirt as they trudged through the gates. Leliana led the way, the only one among them who’d been to the capital, and she pointed out landmarks as they went. Sereda took a moment to pretend she was just a sightseer rather than a wanted Grey Warden looking for an impossible fantasy. Morrigan popped the daydream with her prickly voice.

“So, we are to split up and look for this man?” Morrigan arched a brow and looked at the buildings around her, nose crinkled.

Sereda nodded. “We need to find Genitivi’s house. Leliana, you go to the chantry, Morrigan, you take the west half of the market, I’ll take the east, and Sten—”

“I refuse to ask after a lost man.” His violet eyes flashed in challenge before he turned his face to glare down a pair of elves who stared at him, slack-jawed.

“Sten, please. Just…” Sereda rubbed her forehead. “Fine, Sten, just don’t get into trouble. We’re trying to keep a low profile—”

Sten left before she could finish her thought. Sereda huffed, waving her hand uselessly, and the women went their separate ways. The marketplace was bustling around her and Sereda sighed. She couldn’t help but compare it to the Commons, with the shouts of the merchants and the exotic blend of smells wafting through the air. The traders held the prospect of luxury; perhaps she would get a new pair of boots made, or some soap. But the main draw of the market was the glittering displays of daggers and swords that sparkled in the early afternoon sun. It was a bittersweet familiarity.

She decided to abandon her sinking mood and forced a smile on her face. There was no point in sulking about Sten’s strange questions or how homesick she suddenly felt. She was on a mission! _An important one_ , she told herself repeatedly. One that split her from one of her closest friends for weeks now with very little promise of success…

Sereda sighed wistfully and focused on her task, entering the first shop she came across, a bell above the door twinkling to announce her arrival.

“Welcome friend!” A cheerful blond man ran up from the back. “Welcome to Wade’s Emporium!”

“Hello, I’m looking for—”

“We have the finest armors in Denerim,” the man interrupted enthusiastically. He motioned to racks of chest plates and greaves, the silver and gold shining in bright candlelight. “Maybe in all of Ferelden! How may we assist you?”

Sereda took a deep breath, ignoring her rising ire. “I’m looking for a—”

“Herren?” Another man came up, this one bald and mustachioed. “Did I hear a _woman_?”

Sereda opened her mouth to try and explain, again, when Herren replied, “Yes, Wade, a _customer_! Don’t be rude!”

“I’m not being rude,” Wade huffed, crossing his arms. He looked Sereda up and down, his glare turning to horror. “Andraste’s grace! Herren, do you see the monstrosity she’s wearing?!”

Sereda looked down to her armor. It was the set she’d been given in Ostagar. It was a bit worse for wear, naturally, but still solid enough. She had few complaints. She looked up to see Wade’s eyes widen as he looked to Herren. “I see it, Wade, but you don’t need to point it out—”

“How can I not? It’s absolutely atrocious! Woman, if you plan on fighting in those… dregs, you’re going to get yourself killed!”

“I am looking for a man named Genitivi!” Sereda shouted, her cheeks red. The men exchanged a shrug.

“Don’t know him,” Herren said.

Wade added in a whisper, “Did _he_ make that armor?”

“I got it in Ostagar,” Sereda snapped. The men’s eyes went wide. _I shouldn’t have said that_. But the shame that flooded their faces made it worth it. She readied herself to lie, to claim to be one of Cailan’s soldiers or perhaps just a merchant from Orzammar, drawn by the promise of work.

Herren stepped around the counter. “I am _so_ sorry for him. He’s never been good with people.”

“Let me make you some armor!” Wade rushed forward, measuring tape appearing in his hands. “As an apology! It’s on the house—”

Herren’s face went from apologetic to beet-red embarrassment as Wade took Sereda’s unwilling measurements. “We can’t afford that, Wade! You can make her some if she pays for it—”

“Look at it! There is _no_ way she can afford better armor or she’d be wearing it!”  

Sereda bit her lip and counted to ten. When she was finished, the men still arguing as Wade jotted down numbers, she turned on her heel and left the shop. She ducked into a few more doorways, but there was no one who’d heard the name Genitivi. She grudgingly made her way to the chantry, sure Leliana would have had more luck.

Leliana had no good news to share. “They claim to have never met the man. Even after I donated five gold!” She glared back at the flame-wreathed face of Andraste that adorned the chantry and gave a puff of annoyance.

“Then we’re back at square one,” Sereda sighed and headed towards the heart of the market. Leliana asked around at the stalls, her demeanor going soft and bold in turn to suit her marks. Sereda smiled as she watched. The sister was quite skilled at conversation.

“She’s wasting her time,” Morrigan’s drawl appeared above the dwarf. “Because _I_ have found where this brother resides.”

“Really?” Sereda’s eyes went wide and she called Leliana to her side. “How did you manage that?”

“He lives across the way from the tavern. I thought perhaps that the knights from Redcliffe might have stopped in there, but the man who tended bar had not seen hide nor hair of them. He _had_ seen Genitivi though, many times, along with his compatriot, another apparent sheep of the Chantry. They often stopped in for supper, he said.” She pointed to the south of the marketplace. “Should be right over there.”

“Should we wait for Sten?” Leliana asked. Sereda’s vehement head shake drew matching smiles from the women and the trio headed towards Genitivi’s home.

There was no response at the door when Sereda rapped. She tried again, harder, but still no voice replied.

Leliana moved Sereda aside gently, whispering, “Here, allow me, Warden.” She knelt to the ground and pulled out her tools, Morrigan and Sereda blocking her from view of the street. In short order the lock clicked and Sereda felt a thrill go through her.  

Morrigan pushed open the door to the modest home, her nose crinkling as a rotten smell emanated from within. “This is the brother’s abode, if we are to believe the barkeep.”

Sereda took a few tentative steps in, the others following her. “Hello? Anyone here?”

It appeared as though nobody had been there for some time. The only light came from the windows, and Sereda could see the whirls of dust in the sunbeams that went to settle on nearly every surface. She kicked a few empty bottles from her path as she went further in, her hand going to her dagger. Just as she was about to call again, a wispy man ran out from a back room, his eyes wide.

“What are you doing here? Who are you,” the man demanded. He pointed a sword, arm shaky, at them, but kept his distance.

Sereda threw her hands up immediately, not wanting to escalate things further. Calmly, she replied, “My name is Sereda. I am looking for Brother Genitivi.”

“Brother Genitivi? Why?” The man dropped the sword an inch and Sereda hazarded a step closer.

She continued in the same soothing tone. “I would like to speak with him about his research.”

“His research?” He lowered the sword down, its point now pressed against the dusty floorboards. “You mean his search for Andraste’s Ashes?” Sereda nodded.

The man shook his head. “He _was_ on the trail for the Urn, yes. Whether he found it… the Maker only knows. I haven’t seen him in weeks. I am afraid something has happened. Genitivi’s research into the Urn may have led him into danger. He’s sent no word; it’s so unlike him.”

Morrigan scoffed. “What do you think he discovered?”

He shrugged. His voice shook as he replied, “I don’t know. He was very excited when he left, and he said he’d be back with all the answers. Perhaps the Urn has been lost for a reason…”

Sereda took another step forward, her companions following suit, and the man jerked to attention once more. “I—I tried to send help. Some knights came from Redcliffe looking for him, not long ago. I sent them after Genitivi, but they too have disappeared.”

“How do you know they disappeared,” Leliana asked, her voice friendly. Sereda turned to look at the sister, whose light blue eyes now shone dark in the dim light.

The man stammered. “Well… they—I… They haven’t returned, and they sent no word either.” He collected himself and continued, “I… I don’t know. After what happened to Genitivi, can you blame me for thinking the same thing could happen to the knights?”

Sereda narrowed her eyes. Something was amiss about the man, but she couldn’t tell what… “So, where did Genitivi and the knights go?”

He shook his head violently, backing up a few steps. “No, don’t ask me where they went! You’ll go after them, and what if ill-luck should befall you, too? This search is curse, on all of us! Some things are not meant to be found.”

Sereda sighed. _Foolish notions of curses…_ “I am willing to risk it. Tell me where he went.”

“So be it,” he said with a sigh. “All he said before he left was that he would be staying at an inn near Lake Calenhad, investigating something in that area.”

Sereda groaned, glancing at Leliana and Morrigan, who wore mirror expressions of annoyance. _We were just there!_ “What exactly was he investigating?”

The shrug the man gave was a hair too practiced, and Sereda studied the man’s face as he replied, “I don’t know. All I discovered from going through his research was that he was staying at the inn—”

“But you just said,” Leliana interrupted, “that he spoke to you and told you that.”

“Y-yes, of course he _told_ me,” the man asserted, his grip on the sword tightening again. “But I also went through his things to see if I could find other clues to his whereabouts…”

“He sounds nervous,” Morrigan said in a faux-whisper. The man’s eyes went wide.

“Hiding something?” Sereda asked; her fingers twitched towards her blades. The trio of women stepped closer and the man backed against a wall.

“That’s n-not true! I told you everything I know! Brother Genitivi told us—told _me_ about the inn and that’s all!”

“You’re lying.” Leliana’s voice was hard now, no longer the mask of kindness. “We all know it.”

The man’s demeanor changed, and he whipped the sword up before him. He glared. “I gave you a chance to turn aside and forget about Genitivi and the Urn. But you all _persisted_. I’ll make sure to tell the others I had no choice!”

Despite his bravado, it was hardly a fair fight. He was skilled, for the few brief swings he got in before Leliana flowed behind him, cutting his throat without a word. He fell with a gasp and gurgle, and the women stepped over his body as they searched the house. Morrigan began to scan the man’s books, while Leliana searched the dining table. Sereda followed the source of the smell that permeated the house and found two dead bodies, insects crawling over blue lips.

She flipped the first man over, grimacing at the weight, and caught sight of a familiar emblem on his shield. The red tower of Redcliffe. _One of Arl Eamon’s men_. The other wore the robes of the Chantry. Sereda opened his copy of the Chant and saw a name scrawled in the front cover, _Brother Weylon_. Sereda sighed as she stood, heading back to the others.

“Found one of Redcliffe’s knights. And Brother Weylon. He must be the one seen with Genitivi.” Sereda tossed the Chant onto the table with a grimace.

Leliana held up a scroll. “This says that Brother Genitivi was headed to Haven, not Lake Calenhad.”

“Where’s that?” Sereda asked as she wiped her hands with a discarded rag.

Morrigan answered. “In the Frostbacks. South of Orzammar.”

Sereda rolled her eyes and gathered up a few more scrolls, stuffing them into her pack. “Ancestor’s blood, it’ll take weeks to get there.” _And we’ll be too close to Orzammar to reasonably put it off any longer…_

“The others will be here soon enough,” Leliana murmured with a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Then we’ll be right off!”

They left Genitivi’s home, Leliana going to inform the city guards of the bodies they’d found. Morrigan went off on her own as well, claiming there was an apothecary she’d heard of that sold the ingredients she sorely needed. Sereda shook her head and walked to the market.

She found a stall manned by a rugged human, grey beard parting to reveal a multitude of scars. Sereda browsed his wares, her cheeks flushing as she saw how closely he watched her. _I’m not going to steal from you_ , she wanted to assure him. But it seemed a forgone conclusion to him, his eyes following her every step. The elf barmaid Aubree came to mind, her green eyes furious as she accused Sereda of stealing. She blushed further, even now, to remember. _To think people believe every dwarf is a criminal…_ She looked up from the dagger she held, eyes meeting the merchant’s. He glared. _Perhaps I should just go…_

Still, the blades were good quality. She had the money Teagan and Isolde had given her; she could afford a new dagger, perhaps a sword even…

“What is this?!” Sereda whipped her head about to find the source of the demand. She found it in Sten, towering above her and shoving a half-eaten… something in her face.

“By the Stone, what are you doing?”

“What is this? A baker gave it to me. She said I looked like, I ‘could use a cook-ee’.” Sten glared down at her and she could see the crumbs in the corner of his lip for the first time.

She took the pastry and sniffed it. It smelled fine to her. She hazarded a nibble. It was indeed a cookie, and a tasty one. She handed it back. “It’s just a cookie, Sten. She was being nice.” _Ancestors know why_ …

“Cook. Ee. I don’t know this word.” He took another bite.

“Cookie? You don’t have cookies in Par Vollen?”

“This is a cookie?” Sten held up the cookie and spoke through a mouthful of crumbs.

Sereda looked at the curious faces turning towards them and hissed, “This is getting a little ridiculous, Sten. A cookie is a…” Sereda searched for the words. “A small dessert. You bake them in batches, like you would with rolls. It’s like a sweet biscuit.”

Sten continued to stare blankly, chewing his cookie slowly. She tried again, “It’s a treat. She probably just wanted to make you smile.” _For once_.

He glanced down at the cookie and back to her. He left without another word, and Sereda could only shake her head with a chuckle as he went.

She couldn’t fault his confusion. There were many strange things to find in Ferelden. She still didn’t care for birds, and rain was surely a curse on humankind. Their stew left something to be desired, but she did enjoy the bread. Large loaves, small ones, hearty or light, every loaf she’d encountered she had devoured. Bread was food for peasants in Orzammar; she never got to have much of it in the palace. It was always imported cheeses from Orlais and roasted nug with mushrooms…

Her reverie was slammed to a halt when a cry cut through all the noise. “FINE DWARVEN CRAFTS! DIRECT FROM ORZAMMAR!”

It was a dwarven voice. She felt the Stone singing through the words deep in her bones. The voice calling for business sounded beyond familiar. It sounded exactly like…

Sereda turned from the merchant’s all-seeing eyes and towards the source of the cries. A few yards away from her stood a dwarf, red hair and ruddy cheeks above a braided beard. He waved his arm to catch the attention of the townsfolk, and called out again. “You won’t find better!”

“Gorim?” She whispered it to herself as she walked off, dropping the dagger into the dirt. She didn’t hear the annoyed merchant’s curses over the rush of blood in her ears. _Is it really him?_ She had thought she would never, _could_ never see him again. And yet he was looking right at her, his face transforming into disbelief to match her own.

 “My lady! My lady Aeducan?” Gorim dropped his arms along with his jaw. Before she knew it, Sereda was running to him, their bodies slamming into a tight embrace. She laughed and cried, burying her face in his neck, the familiar stroke of his beard on her cheek.

He whispered in disbelief. “Is—is it really you?”

She pulled back and laughed as she wiped away the tears on her face. “I could ask you the same thing!”

“I knew you survived. I never stopped believing it, my lady.”

“You can call me Sereda here, Gorim. There’s no one to chide us.”

His lips smiled despite the downturn of his eyes. Softly, he breathed, “I can hardly tell you how good it is to see you alive.”

He felt like home in her arms. The never-ending dirt roads, the burning sun, the annoyingly persistent Chantry, it was all forgotten when he looked at her. The darkspawn were the nightmares of another woman, the Archdemon a tale to tell children. Even Alistair faded away. Gorim was a dwarf, one of her own. Gorim was _hers_.

Sereda clasped him closer to her before she could choke out, “I never thought I’d see you again.” The tears overwhelmed her again, happiness outweighing her shock. She pulled back enough to kiss him, lips pressed together hard against his in joy.

“My lady… if I had thought to see you again…” Gorim pulled away, his cheeks going pink above his red beard. “You—you will always be in my heart.”

Sereda’s heart sank to her toes. She dropped her arms uselessly to her sides. “Gorim?”

He stared at his toes, the words coming from him in spurts. “We both knew... well, we know it wouldn’t truly work out in Orzammar. I was honored by the time we shared, but… You are a princess. I’m--I'm not even a warrior anymore.”

Sereda scoffed and loudly replied, mania rising in her throat. _Why is he fighting this?_ “But we’re not in Orzammar. There’s nothing to stop us—”

“I’ve found someone.” It was a knife to the heart. “My—my wife,” he twisted, “is a good woman, the daughter of the best smith in Denerim.”

Sereda couldn’t get the words out of her brain. _What about me, what about me?_ He’d promised to love her forever…

"We’re hoping to start a family before too long…”

It took the strength of the Stone to keep her on her feet. Her world spun around her. _Did he marry the first dwarf he found?_ She bit back from saying it. Gorim was going on, but the words were like the buzz of flies in her ear. _Get a hold of yourself!_

“Well,” she interrupted with forced cheer. “When can I meet the lucky girl?”

Gorim let out the breath he was holding. “I would love to introduce you. But we have more important business than hearing about my family.”

Sereda fought to control her breathing as Gorim shuffled around his wares, pulling out a large parcel. He handed it to her with a bow.

“Before I left for the surface, King Endrin sent for me. Truth be told, my lady, it was almost more than I could endure, seeing him so. It was as if he were long dead and rotten, and now merely an empty husk. He could not even rise from his bed, and room stank of decay.”

She gasped, her free hand going to her mouth. Sereda knew her father was old, but he had been in perfect health as long as she known him.

“He asked me… to give you the Shield of Aeducan. And this letter.” Sereda ripped open the package, tears prickling her eyes again when she saw the familiar face of her ancestors looking up at her. It glinted in the sun, bright and polished. She hadn’t seen anything as beautiful as it in all of her time on the surface.

“I have carried them with me since I left Orzammar. As angry as I once was with the king, when I saw him that final time… I pitied him. His eyes have haunted me since. If it is possible for a man to die of regret, I think King Endrin will.”

“Thank you,” she said shakily. She held the shield to her chest before strapping it to her back. She tucked the letter with the scrolls of Genitivi. “You’ve done your house honor.”

“Bah, we both know I no longer have a house, my lady.”

“Nor do I, Ser Gorim.” It came out with a sharp edge, and she was momentarily glad to see the shame on his face. He had walked out of Orzammar to a life on the surface, while she’d been thrown to the darkspawn.

Gorim bowed. “My apologies, lady Aeducan. I forget myself. Too long with these surfacers.”

“Sereda!” Leliana’s voice sounded behind her, and she turned to see her companions waiting expectantly. The sister waved, her face going from a smile to a frown when she caught sight of Sereda’s crestfallen expression.

“I should go,” Sereda murmured, turning back to Gorim. “It was good to see you…”

“My lady,” Gorim caught her hand. “It will always be my honor to serve you.”

_Just not to love me_. “Thank you, Gorim. We will be back tomorrow, I believe. Perhaps I’ll see you then.”

He nodded and bowed, a smile returning within his beard. She shuffled back to the others, making it out of Gorim’s earshot before the sobs hit her.

Leliana tried console her on their way back to camp as best she could, but Sereda shook off her attempts. She wanted to wallow. Gorim’s marriage was just another addition to a long list of punishments, she decided. _And well-deserved, too_. She thought guiltily of Alistair; she had moved on in the same way her second had, how could she fault him?

There was also the matter of her father’s letter. When they got back to camp, Sereda’s companions rushed to their separate areas when it was clear she wasn’t going to explain the motivation for her terrible mood. She ignored Salroka’s greeting and went to the river, finding a large stone to flop down on. She pulled the parchment from her pack, turning the letter over and over in her hands. Her father’s last words to her…

_I might as well get it over with_ , she reasoned. Whatever her father had to say, she would rather know sooner than later. She broke the seal, a squeak of surprise forced from her when a ring fell from it. She laid the ring on her lap, reading her father’s small script with suspicious eyes.

_Dearest daughter,_

_Perhaps you will burn this letter unread. For that, I would not blame you. But I cannot return to the Stone without saying this to you: I have seen what Bhelen is. And when I saw it, I knew I had been a fool. For only a fool would cut out his own heart and burn it for the sake of appearances. I never believed in your guilt. I allowed you to be exiled because I feared an inquiry into Trian's murder would taint our house with scandal in the eyes of the deshyrs and cost our family the throne. And I am sure you are thinking it, and I assure you that I know; your mother would be shamed by me._

_I have saved nothing by this sacrifice: I sent my only faithful child into an uncertain exile. Know that whatever you do now, you bear all the honor and pride of House Aeducan. No man, not even the king, can take that away from you._

_-Father_

She held her signet ring in the palm of her hand, its weight as familiar as the blood in her veins. The king had given it to her on her twelfth birthday and she’d hardly removed it since. She studied it, the small rune representing her name still etched in the band, the golden face of her ancestors observing her. It didn’t give her the same feeling of pride it did in the past, didn’t inspire her to charge forward and lead her troops. Her heart felt hollow to see it now.

_Is this who he is?_ She idolized her father, and to read his words threw everything in to question. Who was this man who tossed aside one child for the lies of another? _Ancestors know I understand saving face, keeping up appearances_. Her entire life on the surface thus far had consisted of it. But her father, King Endrin Aeducan, he was supposed to be above it. To freely admit that he exiled her for the sake of the deshyrs…?

She slipped the ring onto her finger, turning it this way and that. It wasn’t who she was anymore, unless it was. She sighed and pocketed the ring, unable to be rid of it completely. Sereda glanced up at the sun, each moment sinking lower into the trees.

_I am a dwarf, but I am not_. _I am a Grey Warden, but I am not. What am I even fighting for_ , she wondered. The Blight was coming, but it still seemed so far away. The nightmares that punctuated the little sleep she got were becoming easier to ignore. _Maybe I can run away_ , she thought, her cheeks flushing at the fantasy. She could take off, find a ship, and head wherever she wanted. She was talented, she had blades of her own… She could make a life for herself far from Ferelden. _Alistair can handle it_ …

At the thought of his name, her heart shamed her mind for its fanciful ideas. Regardless of how strange and twisting the path to the Archdemon was before her, she would walk it with Alistair by her side. They were in it together, no matter what. She could no less abandon the Stone. She slid her father’s letter back into her pack and wiped away the tears on her cheeks. She stood and headed back to camp, resolved to check if there was any word from her warden fellow.

There were no letters, but there was a bubbling stew and Morrigan produced some hard biscuits from her pack, slipping a few extra to Sereda when the others weren’t looking. Sereda couldn’t fully erase her melancholy, but she did her best to approximate a smile when Leliana struck up a jaunty tune and Sandal began to dance. At the evening’s end, when she went to her tent to try and sleep, a stack of cookies rested on her pillow, crumbs spilling over to the grass below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I know it's been a while since I updated. I try not to put hard timelines on myself, but I _do_ try to update around once a week. I had some pretty bad writer's block the last two months, but I'm pushing through it best I can! That being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Comments, kudos, and good vibrations are always appreciated and cherished!


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